“And you think just because you’ve ordered the delivery of the same puff pastry every Tuesday for the last, like, five years you can just walk in here and-”
“It was your favourite puff pastry. I know you enjoy making it.”
A plastic flap, of the many that gated the way to the employees-only area, slipped off Jim’s shoulder and hung loosely with the others. He had only just strided in. He stood before her again, handsome, older, with a grin of fine teeth and a mullet.
“But why didn’t you just call?”
“I wanted to show dedication. I imagine with a lot of men they-”
“You’re too late, Jim. It was a short chat and a good smile, I’ll admit, but it ends there.” She tilted her head as she said it and the edges of her mouth sank in distaste.
“You remember my name, atleast.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t mind if I keep ordering them from you?” He gestured to the complicated apple turnover on the rack.
“Not at all.”
“I’m not eating them.” He mumbled. They both paused as another worker of the supermarket popped in, lifted a tray of fresh bread and popped out.
“What?
“I said I’m not eating them.”
“Then what, in god’s name, are you doing with them?”
“I am assembling a model of the star trek enterprise out of them.” It was a grand sight. He had a photo in his breast pocket and he considered showing it to her.
“But. But the weight bearing properties of pastry-”
“Have been overcome. In the name of passion. In the name of you, Julia.”
She looked at him, her eyes widened, startled.
