Lovely Interruption

6 Feb

There was an unusual amount of lovely interruptions at work today.  I walked the store and every time I turned around, there was a rather handsome distraction standing nearby.  Heaven forfend I should complain, but good gravy!  I can’t even ogle because I’m vying for a lack of reaction from my coworkers! 

So, I settle for a quick glance and memorize what I can, savoring it for when I close my eyes in the break room. 

I must admit a rather unsettling attraction to certain kinds of boots.  Normally, if a man is wearing a certain kind of boot (which I can’t really describe, because it’s a rather non-descript scruffy) then the body attached to the feet is rather nice.  I find I can overlook a homely face for a nice set of shoulders or well-turned calves. 

Unfortunately for me, or rather, perhaps, fortunately, I am taken by a rather lovely former fireman. LOL

So, for my own pleasure and probably yours, here I give to you the beginning of an Orange Box Romance.


Get in. Get out. Get back to the job site before all hell breaks loose.

Brig Tanner set his stride to “don’t talk to me”, ducked his head and veered through obnoxious parking lot traffic into the local home improvement warehouse. A large box fan blasted into his face, making him blink a stray particle of dust out of his left eye. Dammit.

He pulled over into the pesticide aisle to not be in the line of traffic coming in the door. People just didn’t give a damn if they ran over you or not. Orange shopping carts raced by like a NASCAR pace lap while Brig rubbed his tearing eye free of debris.

Ouch. Dammit that hurts.

The pain in his eye must be affecting his brain processes, for he surely did not just see what he thought he did. He pried open his injured eye, streaming tears and looking like he’d gone half mad with half of his face. Yup. There was an orange apron bouncing towards him. That wasn’t so strange. What was strange was that she was bouncing towards him, humming along with the muzak overhead. On top of all that, and her head, was a bouncing pair of shamrock boingy things. Or whatever those headbands are called.

She saw him and stopped.


And approached.


And she was cute.

A blonde curly pixie bob kinda cute.

“You okay?” Her dark brown eyes were instantly sympathetic. Which made him feel pathetic. He shut his mouth, only to open it again with a curt, “Yeah, just dust.”

“Oh.” But she didn’t go away. She dug into her apron pocket like a kangaroo, rooted around and came up with a triumphantly helpful look. “Here’s a napkin. Will that help?”

Too damn cheerful by far.


He could feel the corners of his mouth curl up in a responsive smile, but they felt like poorly oiled hinges grinding along the way. He took the napkin, yellow with a Wendy’s embossed into it, and wiped his eye. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Can I help you with anything else?”

Yeah, how about a personal tour of a dark, secluded aisle?

He cleared his throat, “Uh… yeah. I need a screw–I mean some number ten machine screws.” Dammitdammitdammit. Real mature, Brig.


Now, my darling nonsensors, what happens next?


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