Some folks in town make eye contact when they notice me, and I give them an awkward wave, trying to remember if I know their names. I probably don't. Or maybe I do? Hell. I've been up here in Polar Bear for five fucking years but don't exactly know my neighbors.
Still, I do my best to nod politely as I pass them, as they grab their Raisin Bran and yogurt, and I grab my fresh fruits and vegetables, knowing they're all luxury items up here in the far north.
The canned fruits aisle is tempting, and I grab some peaches, a few boxes of cornbread and cake mix. A bunch of shit I probably don't need. But it's winter and it's for hibernating, right? I smile at the thought.
And just as I'm smiling, my eye catches on something. Rather, someone.
Someone who's staring at me. Her face is buried in a magazine at the end of the aisle, but she's not reading it; her eyes are scanning me. I can tell.
I lift my eyebrows. "What?" I ask plainly.
She shakes her head. Those eyes though? Damn. They're seductive. Bright blue, like the sky overhead at my cabin. Clear as fucking day. Her hair is bright red, to her waist. Long tresses. She looks like a medieval princess. She's got a giant white fur collar on her long black coat that runs all the way down to her calves.
My eyes keep trailing her, and I take in her boots. They're brown leather. They have sensible heels, sturdy, like they were made for something: for riding, for combat. I look back and memorize her face. She looks like a queen. Regal. I'm half expecting to see a crown cresting her head.
She lowers the magazine. Her lips are pink and pouty. Her nose is upturned. There's a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. And damn, my body is turned the fuck on.
This is not my general reaction while walking through a grocery store. First of all, this is not my natural element, grocery shopping. I don't do it often. And my cart, it's fucking filled to the brim, as if I’m half-starved, which, upon seeing her – I realize just how hungry I am.
She eyes my cart next. She hasn't said a word, and neither have I. But I keep walking toward her as if she is the destination, the end point.
I clear my throat. "Have we met?" I know damn well we have not. Because if we had, I would never forget her. Her name, her everything. She lifts her eyebrows. One hand moves to her hip. She cocks it. It's curvy and cute, and I want her in a way I've never wanted anyone. And that fact alone makes my heart pound in my body, thrum, makes everything turn bright.
"No," she says, her voice filled with light and laughter. "We haven't met. I think I'd remember."
"Remember what?" I ask, unsure of what she's meaning.
"I'd remember this wild Alaskan mountain man walking toward me with a basket full of so much food I'm thinking he's prepping for the end of the literal world."
I look at the shopping cart. I mean, it is full. Really, really full. I didn't just buy one kind of cheese. I picked out six different kinds: colby and pepper jack, a medium cheddar, extra sharp. "I like cheese. What can I say?"
She laughs. "I mean, who doesn't like cheese?"
I shrug. “You know, those freaky anti-lactose dairy-free folk."
"That's not a thing," she says. "Anti-lactose?”
I shrug. "At least we know we're both cheese people."
She smiles; her teeth are bright white. And I want to run my hands over her lips, over her teeth. And I realize, as I think it, that’s creepy as hell. Who wants to kiss someone else's teeth? But I do. I want to kiss hers. She's staring at me. I wonder if she can read my mind. I know she can't. And, fuck. I'm glad. I can’t have her running away. We’ve just barely met.
"What?" she asks, half whisper, half amazement. "What are you doing with all of this food?"
Okay. So she's not transfixed by me in the same way I'm transfixed with her. But, fuck. I'm feeling something, real and raw. Alive. Sharp. Sudden.
"I'm just hungry, I guess," I say.
“I suppose you are," she says. "You like to cook?"
I shrug. I pick up the can of peaches. "This won't spoil."
She nods. "Right. I mean, you're stating the obvious. I do understand how canned food works."
I chuckle. "Right. Well, I just ... Do you live around here?"
She shakes her head slowly. "No, I'm here for work, research."
"For research," I repeat. "That's interesting.”
"You don't even know what kind of research it is."
I smile. "Fair enough. So what kind of research is it?"
"I'm here at the Polar Bear Sanctuary outside of town. Have you ever been there?"