Marlboro Lights

I clicked the pen once. Then once more. Then again. As I flipped the pages of the magazine I'd already finished reading, I clicked the pen again. From one of the aisles - I didn't bother to look up and check which one - an impatient man cleared his throat.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to concentrate, this place has no sense of organization," he snapped, peeking his head around the aisle and waiting for me to acknowledge his pretense.

I finished reading a snippet about Taylor Swift conquering the world, put on my best customer service smile, and raised my wide and innocent eyes to meet those of the lone shopper. "You're in the wrong aisle," I told him, smiling politely.

He furrowed his eyebrows at me and I couldn't help but think he looked like a hairless cat. Correction, an extremely unattractive and grumpy, hairless cat. He was thin around the middle but puffed out in the chest area, and he was nearly bald, the only hair visible was his over sized mustache that was in the beginning stages of graying. His shirt was a size too small for him and his boots were caked in what I assumed was dried red mud. In all honesty, his physical description matched that of nearly every man in this God forsaken town. I sighed heavily as the man grumbled about 'smart-ass little girls' and stalked away to find the right aisle, not even bothering to ask how I knew what he was looking for.

Ten minutes later, Cat-Man found what he was looking for and made his way to the counter to pay. As I rang him up and offered a bag for his industrial sized package of zip ties - I paused to eye him suspiciously, who the hell needed that may zip ties - he tutted on about how out of order my store was, and how if I didn't do something about it - he'd call my father and file a personal complaint.

As I handed the rude man his change, I also handed him my father's business card. "Here's his number, make sure you call in the morning - he's awfully busy at night...what, with cleaning the streets of all the low-life criminals. I'm sure a disorganized hardware store will top his list of priorities."

For a moment, I imagined the Cat-Man launching over the tiny counter and zip-tying my wrists and ankles together, tossing me in his trunk and driving it off a cliff...but maybe that was my imagination running away with me again. Like every other rude customer who threatened to tattle to my father about the state of his beloved store (if it was so beloved, why was I running it while my father worked in the city?), they left without a word, trying to slam the door on the way out but being bested by the spring I'd installed - all on my own - to stop just that from happening. I called out a useless 'Have a wonderful day, please come back!' and rolled my eyes, returning to the magazine and re-reading the Jennifer Lawrence quote.

Ten minutes and the remaining pages of the magazine later - where I literally did not move from the position I was in, sat cross-legged on a bent stool behind the front counter - a sound from outside caught my attention. It was a loud sound, almost like a roar. I thought maybe a motorcycle, but in my twenty-two years in this asshole town, I'd never seen one. So naturally, my small-town curiosity got the best of me and I tossed my magazine aside, crawling over the boxes of motor oil I still hadn't unpacked. By the time I made it to the rear window of the store, the roar had disappeared, but I peeked through the blinds anyway. What I saw what exactly what I expected; a motorcycle. It was huge and it looked expensive, and whomever was riding it was climbing off, helmet still covering his face.

From what I could tell, the rider was male. He wasn't very tall, but still taller than me. He was also quite skinny, but not unattractively so. His shoulders to hip ratio was unique and I really just wanted to stare at him. I'd never seen a man with such broad shoulders and yet such narrow hips. I saw him reach up for the helmet as if to remove it, but it was just as he was turning to the window - so I figured it best to move away and return to my seat. The last thing I needed was to be caught spying.

I slowly made my way back to my counter, grabbing my forgotten magazine and tossing it under the counter with others just like it. I reclaimed my seat and huffed, disappointed that I hadn't caught a glimpse of the mystery man's face. It wasn't often that my little corner of Hell got visitors, so I was always intrigued when we did.

As I pondered the face of the mystery man, the bell above the front door dinged and I looked up, ready to greet my customer - not even for a moment assuming it would be the same mysterious stranger.

As the door open and the sunlight poured in - creating an angelic glow around him - he stepped inside and quickly glanced around, his eyes landing on me at the counter. He offered a tight but kind smile as a sort of casual greeting.

My first thought was something along the lines of 'what corner of Heaven did you crawl out of' because in my entire life, I'd never seen anyone as good looking as him. With naturally tanned skin and hair almost perfectly (hardly any helmet hair,how he managed that, I'll never know) styled and jet black, I knew he wasn't from around here - he was far too ethnic and good looking to be from my neck of the woods. His cheekbones and jawline looked like they could have been carved from marble, they were that sharp and perfectly defined - like paint lines on a canvas. Lining the aforementioned perfect jawline and cheekbones was dark scruff, thick and even - not at all patchy like most guys around these parts. From my distance, I couldn't tell the exact color of his eyes but I knew they were rich and warm, inviting even, in spite of the hard tension in his face that suggested he was all business. His lashes were absolute perfection; thick, long, and black as night, and I immediately pulled back, blinking rapidly as my own insecurities settled beneath my skin. I felt like a troll in his presence; he was that attractive.

I don't know what I expected this handsome stranger to do, but slowly and casually roaming the aisles of my hardware store was not on my list of expectations. I carefully leaned over the counter, resting my elbows on the hard surface and planting my chin in the palm of my hands. I tried to make it look like I was distrusting and nosy - because that sort of attitude towards strangers was expected in this town - but in truth, I wanted to watch him walk. He moved so gracefully, yet with so much purpose. He was enticing, and sultry, and mysterious, and so incredibly good looking, and I was enthralled.

So enthralled was I that when Handsome Stranger turned for the counter with an armload of items, the sudden movement in my direction startled me and my elbow slipped, causing my arms to drop roughly. I overcompensated my save and was sure it looked like I was thrashing around, so when the Handsome Stranger gave me a soft and amused yet apologetic smile, my face burned with embarrassment.

Clearing my throat and straightening my back, dropping off the stool I'd been resting on, I readied myself to ring his items up. It was almost as if he were approaching my counter in slow motion and the impatience was so toxic that I wanted to throw up. As much as I would have loved to stare at him all day, I'd already shamed myself once and I needed a moment to gather my senses. Really, I needed him to leave.

"Alright, love?"

His voice came out of nowhere as time resumed its usual speed, and he was gently placing each item on the counter. I screwed up my face in concentration as I tried to focus on taking each item and scanning it, rather than trying to discern what sort of broad accent he spoke with. It was thick and heavy, his voice not nearly as deep as I expected it to be, but just as intoxicating. I felt my mind clouding with images of him whispering husky words of lust in my ear, and back in the hardware store, the blush in my cheeks deepened. I wanted to disappear.

"Sixteen fifty, please," I said quietly, barely lifting my eyes to meet his. When he'd been further away, they seemed almost dark brown. But up close, they were so much lighter and warmer, a deep hazel that made my stomach do flips.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him pull a wallet from his front pocket and I resisted the urge to comment that my father did the same thing. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin my perfect image of this man with images of my dad.

He pulled a few bills from the center and a coin dropped out as well, bouncing across the counter and stopped only as I flattened my palm onto it. I carefully picked it up, glancing quickly at the face. It read 'one pound' and then I knew; he was British. I don't know why I couldn't figure that out from the start, but now that I knew, I was incredibly curious as to what a very handsome British man was doing in the middle of rural Georgia.

As I counted his change, I kept my eyes away from him and down, focusing on counting back the money. "What brings you to town?" I asked casually, like I asked all my new customers the same question. I didn't. I rarely spoke to my customers. Also, the last 'new' customer I had was six months prior to this guy. It was rare.

"I've got some business in Atlanta," he started, opening his hand as I placed the change in his palm, making sure we didn't touch. "Just not a fan of the city."

Reasonable enough; my father was the same way. Cringing eternally, I made a mental note to stop comparing this very good looking person to my father. Unsure I'd be able to speak again now that he was looking directly at me, I simply nodded in response. Smiling as softly as possible, I just watched as he pocketed the change and returned his wallet to his front pocket. Again, I blocked out the intrusive image of my father.

For a moment, we were both silent, and I was beginning to wonder why he was still standing there. Then he spoke and politely asked for a bag, and the blush returned. Right.

Plucking a paper bag with the store's logo and phone number on it, I dropped it on the counter and stood on my toes as I began to place his items inside. It was the first time I'd managed to really see what he was purchasing. A nasty habit of mine was judging a person by their purchases, and as I placed duct tape, leather gloves, and gardening shears into the bag, I had a moment where I was genuinely confused as to what this man's business was in Atlanta. The items in his bag suggested he was either a murderer or a dedicated gardener; but his motorcycle, leather jacket, and heavy boots suggested, well...

My eyes snapped up to meet his again as I pushed the bag towards him.

What if this guy was a murderer?

That would be just my luck. The first properly attractive man to walk into my store since the day I took over and he was only interested in killing me. Probably for sport, too. He didn't look like the type of man who needed a motive. Something in his eyes, maybe.

He thanked me and lifted the bag from the counter, narrowing his eyes as I suspiciously stared him down.

My imagination was at it again.

Finally, he turned and made his way to the door, turning just enough to nod a polite goodbye to me as the bell dinged overhead and he was gone.

Letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, I waited until he was out of sight of the front door and I sprinted over the motor oil cases and back to the window where I'd first spotted him. I peeked through the blinds again and watched as he finally came into view, the bag tucked neatly under his arm. I watched as he rolled the extra paper up and then shoved the entire bag into the storage space under his seat. After pushing the seat down firmly, he took hold of his helmet and just as he lifted it to pull it down over his hair, he turned and looked right at me. I froze, naturally, and it wasn't until he lifted his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, his lips curling into an entertained smile that I rolled away from the window and pressed my back to the wall, my hand over my face.

I waited for the familiar roar of his motorcycle taking off before I moved, thinking that maybe this stranger was going to be the much needed alluring distraction from my mundane life.

It was what I'd always hoped for, after all.

Notes

A second update for the day because the prologue is so short. Please let me know what you think, a lot will happen in this story in the next few days - and even more is planned!

xx Katie