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Chapter Fifteen: Kaylee
Grocery shopping is the one thing that distracts me from any problem I’m facing…and God knows I need some distraction. I’ve spent the past few days, thinking about Ian and Jamila. I know I shouldn’t be bothered by her or anything since they are broken up. But a part of me just can’t seem to stop thinking about her. She has an entirely different personality from mine, and seeing that they dated for quite some time, it has to mean something.
But why on earth am I even thinking about this? I shrug the thought out of my head and push my trolley into the dairy products section. Then again, she’s really pretty. From what I saw on her Instagram page, which I promised myself not to look at, she’s kind of an overachiever. One of the top students in their class and one of the first to get a job at Silicon Valley. She moved up the ranks of the business way before she worked with Ian. I can definitely see the appeal. What guy in his right senses wouldn’t go for someone as successful as her? How can I compete? All I have is a pastry shop, and even that isn’t doing so well.
“Gosh… what’s with the self-pitying talk,” I groan, fixing my gaze on the stacks of dairy products on the rack. Besides, I have a whole lot more to think about. The winner of the Andrews & Sons grant is going to be announced in a few weeks, and among the benefits of winning is the exclusive right to cater for the upcoming event the company has on its calendar.
I get giddy whenever I think about how much the exposure will mean for me. It will definitely send my business shooting for the stars. With a small smile curling my lips, I grab some butter and milk, placing it into the trolley. The label of a milk bottle catches my eye, and I grab it from the shelf. Reading the ingredients and contents, I return it to the shelf and move on.
The minutes pass as I walk around the supermarket, pushing my trolley. I make a mental checklist of the items I’ve bought, and when I’m satisfied, I head toward the checkout section. My stomach churns as I get in line to pay, and I glance at my watch. It’s noon already, and I haven’t even had breakfast.
A gentle hand taps my shoulder from behind. “Hello.”
I turn around to the blonde-haired woman standing behind me. She’s holding a bottle of mustard, and her eyes are scanning through the ingredients.
“Do you think this mustard contains gluten?” She raises her gaze to meet mine. My eyes go wide as I recognize her.
“Melissa?” A bright smile curls up my lips.
“Oh, my God.” She drops the mustard bottle into her trolley. “Kaylee.” She closes the distance between us and wraps her hands around me. “Great running into you here.”
“You too, Melissa.” I smile. “This mall is on the opposite side of town from where you live. How come you’re here?”
“A friend directed me.” She looks around. “She said they have the best products.”
“Well, your friend isn’t lying. I come here all the time.” I push my trolley as the line moves a step forward. Melissa looks good as always; her age has nothing on her. She still has the same vibrance, rivaling that of any thirty-something-year-old. Even her outfit looks effortlessly stylish.
“I love your blouse.” I point to her multicolored peplum tunic top.
“This old thing?” She laughs and offers, “Thanks.”
I step up the queue.
“How’s your pastry shop doing by the way?” she asks.
“Oh well… you know.” I shrug. “It’s… good.”
She stares intently at me for a moment.
“That’s not very convincing.”
I let out a light chuckle as the person in front of me leaves. Pushing my trolley forward, I lean against the checkout counter, watching as the cashier unpacks my trolley. Melissa’s still staring at me.
“Yeah well.” I scratch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not doing as well as I thought it would be doing by now.”
I turn my gaze to the ground. I don’t like to talk about the fact that the shop might fail. Ever since I left the corporate life, a lot of people expected my next venture to be a raging success. Seeing that it isn’t even close to that, I can’t help that feeling of inadequacy. I’m already getting enough of that from myself. I don’t need other people giving me that look.
The cashier rings my stuff and I hand her my card.
“Alright, Melissa.” I back away as she returns my card. “I guess I’ll see you around?”
“How about lunch?”
I stop. “What?”
“Lunch,” she repeats. “There’s a restaurant nearby. Their food is delicious–or so I hear.” She pauses, a soft smile lighting up her face. “Please?”
I glance at my watch. I still have some time to spare. Besides, I’m still hungry and my stomach is starting to cry out for help.
