25 to Wife

by J. C. Robinson

  25 To Wife

  J.C. Robinson

  Copyright © 2017 by J.C. Robinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Kelsey

  2. Paul

  3. Kelsey

  4. Kelsey

  5. Paul

  6. Kelsey

  7. Paul

  8. Kelsey

  9. Paul

  10. Kelsey

  11. Paul

  12. Paul

  13. Kelsey

  14. Kelsey

  15. Paul

  16. Kelsey

  17. Paul

  18. Kelsey

  19. Paul

  20. Kelsey

  21. Paul

  22. Kelsey

  23. Paul

  24. Kelsey

  25. Paul

  26. Kelsey

  27. Paul

  28. Kelsey

  29. Paul

  30. Kelsey

  31. Paul

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by J.C. Robinson

  One

  Kelsey

  “Well, hello little lady.”

  Strike two. Strike one was him planning our first date at the Starbucks inside of Target. I knew already this date wasn’t going to turn out well. But hey, I’d driven all the way here, I might as well get some coffee. Worse case scenario, I could go shopping after he hit strike three.

  “Hey! How’s it going?” I replied. Until they got three strikes, I’d be pleasant.

  “It’s good. You know, the usual,” he replied with a smile full of confidence. I’d have to see if it was misplaced.

  “Shall we?” I gestured toward the automatic doors. We started walking and my skeptic of a brain got to working. He probably just picked this place because he wouldn’t have to hold the door for you. Where did you even get that idea from, brain? “So, what is the usual for you, Mike?” I asked, hoping to drown out my brain’s unfair assessments.

  “Oh, you know…” he started.

  No, I don’t. That’s why I asked...

  “Just got back from the gym, picked up some beer for a party later. Hey, would you wanna swing by with me? It’s a chill thing.”

  I could see it in his eyes. He was thrilled at the prospect of me being his arm candy for the night. “We’ll see how your coffee game is first,” I said, stepping into the Starbucks line.

  He shrugged and stepped behind me. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. I didn’t mind – he would need his energy to keep up with me once I got coffee into my system.

  My eyes roamed the interior of the giant store. I watched the registers to my left, noticing the impassive faces of the cashiers. I shuddered slightly. Ick, I remembered retail. Turning to my left, there were the large blue doors we had come in through, and a stream of customers. A cart attendant was pushing carts in, grunting quite loudly as he maneuvered them back to the collection area. The security guard leaned against a row of carts, looking bored out of his mind. Bored but cute, though.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” a dark-skinned barista with a pleasant smile asked me when we reached the counter. If she was as unhappy as the rest of the employees, she did a wonderful job of hiding it.

  “Oh, yes, I’ll take an iced coffee.” I gave her my name and stepped to the side, allowing Mike to order.

  “I’ll take a, um, that.” He pointed to the menu on the board.

  “The cappuccino?” the barista asked patiently.

  “Yep! That’s the one. Name’s Mike.” She nodded, and he joined me off to the side.

  “Guessing you don’t come here often, eh?” I asked.

  “Oh, you know, now and then.” He shrugged. “Depends how I’m feeling after my workouts.” He looked down at his bicep and I swear I saw him flex it slightly. Okay, so he was vain – not a crime.

  “What do you do when you’re not lifting?” I asked. “Like, you know, for work?” I would have cringed internally at the reflexive sass that filled my question if this guy seemed promising. But then again, I wouldn’t have broken out the attitude if he was half-decent.

  “I’m a caddy. I work with my mom.”

  “That’s cool,” I said. At least he was employed. “Do you play?”

  “Play what?”

  “Golf…” I answered. Oh, lord. Where was my drink? These kinds of guys were the worst. Not bad enough to strike out, but clearly not a match.

  “Oh, yeah. Not much though. I prefer football.” His eyebrows rose and fell, as if I was supposed to drop my pants for that.

  “Favorite team? I’m down with the Seahawks.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He answered my question with a question.

  “Yes…” Where were our drinks?!

  “Cool, cool. I like the Redskins myself. I’m originally from Maryland. Who’s your favorite player?” he asked, narrowing his eyes, prompting an eye roll from me.

  “Russell Wilson on offense,” I answered. “Richard Sherman on D. I loved Beastmode until he retired.”

  His face shifted into one of those “Not bad, I’m impressed” looks and I nearly gave him strike three right there. But he was saved by the arrival of our coffee.

  We sat in the sitting area (which was merged with the Target cafe – so romantic) and took our first sips. I steered the conversation somewhere else so he wouldn’t end up drinking his coffee alone.

  “Do you have any siblings? Pets?”

  Slurp. “Nope, just me!” Slurp. “I was in the big brother program before. Until I had to leave for school.”

  “Oh, wow.” I nearly fell from my seat. “How long did you do that?” I leaned forward. Surely this wasn’t the same guy I walked in with.

  “A few years actually. I miss it,” he said, before looking up to the ceiling thoughtfully.

  “How’d you get into that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It was good money.” Slurp.

  “I thought that was a volunteer program?” This is where he tells you he stole the money from the program, my brain said.

  “Oh, it was,” he said. “But I had extra pills to sell.”

  And that was when I figuratively said strike three, check please. I was standing up and walking toward the red doors before he could ask where I was going.

  “Are you sure he said pills?” my best friend, Stacy, asked.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Hmm, sounds like a keeper.”

  I stared at her and she gave me an apologetic smile. “Oh, well. On to the next one,” I said. “Although I might want to look elsewhere. Tinder seems to be a breeding ground for the ‘Mikes’ of the world.”

  “Well, if you come out with me tonight maybe…”

  “Let’s do it!” I didn’t wait for her to finish. What did I have to lose? Besides sleep before the hike I had planned. “What are the chances I would meet someone on a hike?”

  Stacy looked up from painting her nails. “Two percent,” she said. “Literally, two.”

  I sighed in reluctant agreement. Maybe I needed to get out of Portland, or Oregon for that matter. There were only so many times I could come home disappointed and say, “Not again.”

  “You seem lost in thought,” Stacy said. “You okay?”

  “Yep. No worries. So when are we leaving?”

  Two

  Paul

  I ran to catch up to the beginning of the train of red Target carts as they thundered through the parking lot. Reaching the front, I was able to guide them away from any parked cars and toward the entrance. My hands were half-frozen, which
didn’t make collecting these unruly carts any easier. I could barely control them on a nice sunny day in an empty lot. Once I re-positioned their direction, I walked back to the last cart to push. The makeshift train bumped onto the sidewalk and slid nicely into the special cart door. Now it was time to push the fifteen carts upwards through two sets of doors. I braced myself and pushed.

  Running after rogue carts and pushing doors open had made me sweat under my uniform. The typical red T-shirt of Target would have been nice at the moment, but my security guard uniform and badge told people I wasn’t just a cart attendant – I was only helping out. It was a tradeoff I was willing to deal with. Maybe one day I wouldn’t tie my self-worth to my job, but that day was not today.

  I maneuvered the carts through the doors and pushed them in with their brethren, holding my finger over the talk button on my walkie before deciding I’d just walk over and ask. I loathed using that thing.

  Arriving at the front end manager, I confirmed there were enough carts in so I could get back to my regularly-scheduled standing around.

  I resumed people-watching at the entrance, letting my mind wander. I calculated how long it would take to pay off my loans. I dreamed of quitting, anything positive to get me through the day.

  “How’s it going?” A welcome voice broke me out of my thought-coma.

  I turned and smiled. Patterson Ryan, another of the managers and one of my two best friends. “Dude, I’m dying,” I answered. Of course, he already knew that. He knew my schedule. Arrive. Inventory. Eight hours of doors. Inventory. Home. Rinse and repeat. “Oh, wait! I completely forgot. So, remember how I was texting Maria from softlines?”

  Patterson nodded as his eyes lit up. “I hope this is good news.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Absolutely not. But, listen. The big boss called me into the office the other day with Lauren, from HR. They sat me down and literally asked me if I could think of anything I had done wrong recently to warrant a meeting.” I let that hang in the air. “I sat there, legitimately putting a good two-minute think into it before shaking my head. I had literally no idea of anything I’d done wrong. So, they finally asked if I had been texting anyone lately. Uh, yes? Then, and I kid you not, Lauren went on a tirade about being careful what you say to coworkers in your personal life.”

  “Damn, Paul. What did you say to the poor girl?”

  I crossed my arms. “Really?” I asked. “You know damn well I didn’t say anything to her.” Patterson broke out in a wide grin. “After like two days of texting, all I said was, and I quote, ‘I think maybe we aren’t compatible.’”

  Patterson stood there, waiting for me to go on. “Uh, what else?”

  “That’s it, man.”

  “I’m so sorry—”

  Patterson’s voice was interrupted by a voice in my ear.

  “Paul, can you go to channel five please.” I switched the walkie-talkie over. It was Sabyr, a senior member of the loss prevention team.

  “On five,” I droned into the mic.

  “I’m pretty sure Patterson knows the safety procedures. Is there any other reason you’re chatting with him?”

  Yeah, maybe because I’d rather be walking a mile over hot coals than here. “Nope.”

  “Then let’s focus on the doors, please.” His voice cut out. I looked to the roof where the cameras stood.

  “What’d he say?” Patterson asked.

  “Oh, he just wanted to know why I was talking to you if you already knew the safety policy. Apparently now they have enough time to watch me from the camera room.” I shrugged.

  “Well, I don’t want to get you in any more trouble, so I’ll be off.” He laughed as he walked away.

  I exhaled and brought my tired eyes back to the doors. Sabyr and his accomplice, Martin, didn’t even stand our doors. They just sat in the office and watched the cameras. Not to mention, they had entire conversations as they observed.

  I needed a new job. Or rather, I needed my old job back.

  Three

  Kelsey

  Of course, I hightailed it out of Target so fast I forgot my clutch, hence my arrival at the store the next day. I walked in and stood in the customer service line, eyes roving over the happenings inside the store. The cashiers still looked unhappy and the customers in front of me sounded displeased. I thought I had it bad teaching Pre-K, but the more I went out in public, the more I was convinced that people regressed in maturity once they hit adulthood.

  “Next,” one of the customer services ladies said. She was older, with pale, wrinkly skin and a pouf of gray hair on top her head. Her face had a clear-as-day “I don’t want to be here” look.

  “Hi, I caller earlier. I left my clutch at the Target cafe yesterday,” I said in my kindest voice. It always perked up when I was speaking with service workers – one of my few good habits.

  “Oh, yes. One moment.” The gray-haired lady shuffled away from the counter and into the back room.

  When she hadn’t returned after a few minutes, I gave into my weary legs’ demand and leaned against the counter. All remnants of annoyance went out the window, however, when the cute security guard from yesterday stepped behind the counter. I found myself staring at his handsome features, which were framed by a clean haircut and trimmed beard. He must’ve just transferred to work here because I had only seen the two wider, white security guards here before.

  The cute guard pushed a cart out of the way and made his way behind the desk. Stopping at the end, he pulled a bin down and set it next to an unused register. He looked up and caught me staring. Shit. I smiled, hoping I didn’t give off the ‘just bitten’ and ‘apple juice magnet’ teacher-vibe.

  But his bright smile lit up my day. I looked away briefly out of habit. Hesitantly, I brought my eyes to his name badge. It read ‘Paul.’ His eyes were still on me when I found the courage to make eye contact again.

  Oh, what the hell. “So, does she always take this long?”

  After a quick laugh, he looked toward the back room. “I didn’t see who was helping you, but just by that description, I’m sure it was Betty.”

  “I guess we’ll see.” I shrugged, and he went back to digging through the box and scanning the items. I wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was doing, but my disillusionment with Mike told me not to start something that would come crashing down again.

  Thirty seconds later, the elderly lady shuffled back out, my clutch in her hand. She waved it in the air for me to confirm it was mine, a frown permanently settled on her face.

  “Yes, that’s it, thank you,” I said.

  She handed it over and Paul laughed from his corner behind the desk. Looking up, he nodded his head at me. Looks like that was Betty after all. I tucked my clutch in my bag and reluctantly walked from the line, heading toward the door.

  You know what, I do have some shopping I needed to do, I thought as I turned and headed toward the… well, I didn’t know where I was going. But I did know I wasn’t ready to leave yet.

  Five minutes and a trip around the store later, I was walking down the aisle to get a coffee before I went home. I’d need some caffeine if I was going to make it through getting the toilet paper caterpillars ready for my students tomorrow. Starbucks was in sight when my breath caught in my chest. Paul was back at the doors, leaning against the carts. That must have been why my legs decided to stall me leaving… or did I have my brain to thank, for once? Either way, I walked around behind the carts, and approached the Starbucks line.

  “I can see you eyeing the coffee. What’s holding you back?” Paul’s low voice carried the few feet to where I stood.

  “I’m practically in line. Doesn’t it look like I’ve already made my decision?” I answered. I suddenly became aware of my sweaty palms – that was new. And what was that? A butterfly or two in my stomach?

  “You almost walked past it, like you’re off daydreaming. Maybe you do need that coffee.” He laughed.

  I feigned a sour look in his direction. Moving up in l
ine, I wondered… did I want his number? Of course I did. There was something about him that already surpassed Mark, Mike, whatever his name was.

  I looked over my shoulder to sneak another peek at him. His face turned to mine and we made eye contact again. There was that brilliant smile again and he seemed a bit reserved, but he was witty. I’d have to talk to him after my coffee, “One iced coffee, please”.

  ---

  My legs carried me over to him even before my name was called for my coffee.

  “Got any more Target tips for me?” I said, as I stood in front of him.

  He straightened up slightly. “I have all the tips for this hellhole,” he said, grinning.

  “How about Starbucks?”

  “The menu on the register is impossible to read. Trust me, I did it once before.”

  “Sounds like you’re quite the versatile security guard,” I said.

  “If you want to call it that. In reality, you could probably do fine with working that register. You look like someone who knows their Starbucks.”

  “Excuse me?” I placed my hands on my hips. “What are you trying to say?” I asked, failing at faking offense with my laughter.

  “How many times have you been there this week?”

  “Three.” I looked at my shoes in mock embarrassment.

  “Kelsey.” The barista called my name. Damn, so soon. I grabbed my drink and made my way back to where Paul was standing.