“Hey!” The Cobbler
turned around with a huge grin, somewhat allaying my fears that there was a
mall rumor going around that I was a stalker. The package of cookies in my
purse felt suddenly heavier.
“So what’s the bad
news you had to tell me?”
His smile was
replaced by a look of comical forlornness. “Sadly, I have to leave you.”
“You what?” I was
100% confused because he was acting like he was telling his sweetheart he had
been drafted and we seemed to have crossed over into one of my weird historical
fantasies that I absolutely do not have a dozen times a day.
“I have to leave
you. I got a new store in a different state that is bigger and is a big step
up, but I’m sad to leave Oklahoma.”
OF COURSE. Of
course the guy who seems to actually be into me and I’m actually into him is
leaving for an entirely different state. But, my ever optimistic mind reminds
me, the state he’s moving to actually borders Oklahoma, so a long-distance
relationship is feasible. (This is desperation at its most potent.)
“Congratulations.
That’s great. But who will I come to with shoe problems?”
“Don Pete will be
the new store manager, and he is this awesome five foot nothing guy. All
machismo and good style. You’ll like him.”
“Don Pete sounds
like a pirate.”
“Yeah. I guess he
does,” the Cobbler said wistfully.
“Well, I guess it’s
fate.” He scrunched his face in confusion. “I brought you some goodies finally.”
“You did not!”
I pulled out the
burgeoning bag of baked goods.
He reached for the
bag like a little boy reaching for a Christmas present. “What is it? Scones?”
“No. Actually. I brought
a scone by last night after my shift but I sat on it. Ha. Ha.” My face turned
completely red. My mouth had started talking without my permission. Oh jeez. Oh
jeez. Oh jeez.
“They’re my chockablock
chockfull chocolate chip cookies.”
“So they’re not
from the bakery?”
“No. My recipe.
Welp! Hope you enjoy them.” I started walking for the door.
“Where are you
going? I have to critique your baking skills.”
“Really? You think
I can’t deliver?”
“I’m not so sure. I
think a professional should stay and hear her taster’s opinion though.”
He opened the bag finally.
“Oh my gosh! There are like a million. This is a haul!”
“Yeah, you’ll have
to share with your buddy. Heheh.”
“Oh I will.”
Why won’t he just take a bite so I can
get out of there? 1) He’s moving out of
town, so even though long-distance is plausible, I HATE long distance, so no
thank you. 2) Something in his face when I handed him the cookies was too surprised, which reminded me of 3)
What in the world had Not Irish Boy
meant by “Look who’s here”? I had to get out of Dodge.
I edged for the
door as he took a bite. He pinned me in place with his eyes before closing them
in apparent ecstasy. Wordlessly he held the bag out toward Not Irish Boy, who
took a cookie and unleashed an unabashedly loud moan. “These are good!”
“Glad you like
them! Welp! Better be going.”
“Hold on. I haven’t
told you what I think yet.” I turned at the door. He waited for me to walk all
the way to where he stood at the back. Seriously. What was going on here?
“These…are a
delight. Seriously, I am so sad to be leaving you. You’re the best. Is there
another one of you? A sister? A cousin? A twin?! Do you have a twin who lives
where I’m moving?”
I searched his
face. Was he flirting? This seemed like super flirting. Flirting on steroids.
But what would I know? “Nope. I’m pretty much one of a kind…”
I edged back toward
the door, and he followed, continuing to pop cookies in his mouth.
“That is too bad.
You’re the best customer I’ve ever had. I don’t think there will be customers
like you where I’m moving. Mmm! It’s
just too bad I have to leave.” He popped another one into his mouth.
At his point I had
been trying to leave for a good 8-10 minutes. It had been obvious that I’d been
trying to leave, and he had purposefully kept talking to keep me there. He had
seemed to be flirting heavily, but then again, he had just called me a customer, which was like a knife to the
heart. So I decided to just suck it up and go for it. No regrets.
“It is too bad.
When do you leave?”
“Today is actually
my last day at work. I finish inventory, and then I have two weeks off to move.”
“Well, I’d really
like to see you before you leave. You should swing by Bakery sometime and visit
me where I work for once. I’ll get you that scone.”
Something in his
face changed that caused my stomach to twist hard and my mouth to dry. Like
something had just dawned on him.
“I haven’t even
started packing yet, but yeah, if there’s time, we’ll drop by.”
“Okay. Thx. Bai.”
And I was out of there like a shot, dialing Sprinkle as I speed walked back to
my car. I told her everything, ending with, “WE?! Who the hell is we?” This time I had remembered his name—first
and last. Dick Sprinkle was on the case.
She called me a few
hours later to tell me her findings: he was married with a kid, loved classic
cars, and went hunting and fishing for fun. So, dodged a bullet on that one. I
would never under any circumstances date someone who liked classic cars.
Thank God I hadn’t
given him my number! Chip, if you’re reading this, you saved my bacon with your
advice. The moral of the story is probably that if a guy really likes you,
ladies and ladies, he’ll make it happen.
You just have to make yourself available, and then know when to write him off
for a lost cause. Also, don’t have a mall crush. Also, men will use you for
your baking prowess. There were a lot of
lessons, I guess.
Oh man. That has SO happened to me before. What is the DEAL with men?! They get bored with their wives and start flirting with customers?! Not wearing his wedding ring? INAPPROPRIATE. UNACCEPTABLE. IN-EXCUUUUS-ABLE! You did nothing wrong. What a jackwagon.
ReplyDelete-A
I had hoped this would end with a date. But now I just want to go punch that jerk in the face. I was once strung along by a real piece of work. Didn't know he was making popcorn garland and the time. There were a lot of us. SO NOT COOL. Also, let me just say, as a gal who has been married for almost 8 years. The right guy, a GOOD guy, no, a MAN, will do what it takes. He might not set up a camouflage hunting blind and hunt you down like a 12 point buck -- ahem -- but he will make the effort. You want that kind of man! Well, not a man is camo with a gun, but just roll with that metaphor...
ReplyDeleteAlso, Dick Sprinkle. I can't. stop. laughing.
Sorry.
This is hilarious!! Oh my goodness, I too wish it had ended with a date but now I want to punch him in the face. I found you through the Lady Okie, and now I will go stalk you via social media. k thanks! :) (just kidding, kind of)
ReplyDeleteOh, I was also hoping it would end with a date. Clearly, there must be someone better for you out there!
ReplyDeleteWell, this is hilarious but also a bummer. But mostly hilarious. WHAT THE HECK, DUDE.
ReplyDeleteHA! Well, that's what we get for expecting things to be exactly what they are at face value I suspect. What a terrible rotten shame. This was an excellent story.
ReplyDelete