If there's one thing I hate about my job it's the part where I stock items onto their respective shelves and coolers. While I'm grateful for the fact that I managed to find a part time job in this small town, I come here every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday with a grimace on my face and a let's-get-this-over-with attitude.
“Anna, can you stock some more waters and juices in the fridge next to the counter?”
The owner of Tom’s General Store––Tom––is on a stocking rampage yet again. I sigh and get off my stool in one swift motion. Stocking fridges is better than sitting here doing nothing, I suppose. And, it's a workout––to make up for the fact that dance practice was cancelled tonight.
Since it started to snow no one has come in. I have two more hours left of this five hour shift and there’s barely anything left to do with myself. I should have expected it to be slow today as soon as I stepped out my front door and saw the snow coming down. For people who should be used to this kind of weather, the people in this place hardly ever venture out when it starts snowing. They stay in their nice, warm, cozy houses for as long as possible. I don't blame them, but they could at least stop by and grab a box of popcorn to amuse me and the rest of the workers.
I push the cart filled with boxes of waters and juices over to the fridge. Since it’s right next to the counter it’s not much trouble. I get started. Not even five bottles are in the fridge when I hear the doorbel ring––the annoying old fashioned one that Tom hung on the door. The sound still makes me cringe.
When I raise my eyes and turn towards the doorway I expect to see a neighbor, a friend; small town citizen ready to say hello. However, all I find is empty space. I suppose some of the people that are here visiting family for the holidays don’t know small town manners. In East Creek, Maine you say hello even when you secretly loathe that person. In fact, I'm willing to bet that's the rule in every small town in America.
I fix my Tom’s General Store T-shirt and get back to stocking. Though, it’s only a few more minutes before I hear footsteps coming down the main pathway. That’s my signal to get behind the counter.
I drop one last bottle into the fridge and step over the crate very un-gracefully, almost falling on my face. My saving grace is the countertop. I grab onto it for dear life and regain my balance.
A barely audible chuckle comes from the other end of the counter. The male voice says, “Very convenient place to put that.” I laugh out loud at how sarcastically it comes out of his mouth. I also can't help but notice his accent, which is clearly either Chirnovian or Vladesvyan. I recognize that Slavic drawl.
When my eyes flash up to see who it is… the last thing I expect… is exactly what I see.
It’s not someone from town, of course. He’s different—way different. The peacoat he’s wearing isn’t full of lint like everyone else’s. A navy blue scarf is neatly tucked into the neck elegantly. He looks like something straight out of a Burberry catalog.
But… his eyes… his face. He’s—no exaggeration here—completely gorgeous.
It’s only a moment before I realize I’m staring and my face flares with heat. But then, I realize he’s smiling at me, too. I let out a nervous giggle, remembering what he said moments before.
“Yeah, my boss won’t let me bring it out into the walkway,” I shrug and scan his items; a bag of Lays chips, a box of hot chocolate mix and… vodka? It’s the only bottle that Tom sells—something made right here in Maine. Besides that there’s only two brands of local distillery beer. But, most customers never even buy the vodka… let alone with hot chocolate mix and chips.
I let out a small laugh and punch the total in, sitting down on the stool.
“What’s so funny?” He asks again in that deep Vladesvyan drawl.
When I look up to answer him I’m momentarily stunned again by, well, his face. His eyes are such a dark blue they almost look black. His even darker brown hair is ruffled from the harsh New England winter wind, but the rest of him looks so well put together that it doesn't matter.
Snap out of it, Anna. You look like an idiot.
I compose myself and answer, “Hot chocolate and vodka?” My eyebrows raise and furrow, just like they always do when I find something odd.
He dazzles me with another laugh; another amused smile. The familiar feeling of butterflies fluttering around in my stomach begins to surface. My heart does a strange dance against my ribcage, and my pulse sky-rockets.
“It’s a specialty of my father’s,” he explains with a mischevious twinkle in his eyes.
His accent is slightly different from my parents'. He can't be Chirnovian... As he hands me the money I ask—out of pure curiosity, “Oh really? Is it a Vladesvyan thing?”
When I look up while handing him his change, his face lights up. “You’re the first one who hasn’t asked me if I was Russian. You must be as well then, correct?”
“Nope,” I reply, getting off the stool. “One-hundred percent Chirnovian, actually,” I grin.
He looks amused. “Ah, I see. I should have known with those striking blue eyes you weren’t anything but.”
Hotness creeps up from my neck and into my cheeks. I fight it back as best as I can and say, “Thank you. But… if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing in a small town like this?”
As I clumsily step over the huge crate I feel a hand steady me by the arm. Standing right next to him makes me realize just how much taller he is than me. He’s got to be at least six feet tall if I only come to about his breastbone. It’s intimidating, to say the least. But, as usual I laugh the awkward moment off.
“Thanks,” I do my famous awkward laugh that dad makes fun of me for.
He answers my question. “You’re welcome… and I’m just visiting some family and friends…”
“Sounds wonderful,” I answer as enthusiastically as possible. I realize he’s staring at me quite… intensely.
I get back to stocking the fridge as he says, “It’s great to see them again… well, you have a wonderful Christmas, milacik.” He calls me 'love' in Vladesvyan, which is similar to the milakvy pronounciation that Chirnovians use.
“Spasiba,” I reply with a thank you in our language as he makes for the door.
As soon as I hear the door close I let out a screech that makes Tom pop his head out of the office near the magazine rack.
“What the hell was that?” He asks, his brows drawn together in concern. "Are you okay?"
“Uh, yeah, fine,” I answer quickly, still smiling to myself like an idiot. “Just stumbled a little, that's all.”
I can predict the roll of his eyes when I hear his frustrated grunt. He gets exceedingly mad when he comes out of the office thinking there’s been a major catasrophe and finds that it’s just someone making strange noises… or the broom closet door slamming shut from the draft of the heating vent.
I’m surprised he can even hear anymore anyways.
I arrive home as usual and do my nightly routine. But, through it all I can’t help but think I missed out on a great guy. Full blooded Vladesvyan? Even though the two countries have their differences we both have identical cultures and closely related languages of Western Slavic. It wouldn’t be too bad to date a Vladesvyan… especially one that’s that gorgeous.
He sticks in the back of my mind right until I black out from exhaustion.
Just another chance I missed out on I guess. Like always.
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Suddenly Princess
Teen FictionAnnaMaria Romanoff grows up with an adoptive family, thinking that her biological parents were working class citizens of the country of Chirnova, who died tragically in a car crash when she was just a year old. It's her senior year in high school no...
