Lunchtime

"Someone's stolen my lunch!" I blurted.

Peering into the break-room fridge, I shoved several lunch bags aside. Still, the brown-paper sack with my name ERIN printed in big black letters remained AWOL.

Lunchroom pranks weren't unusual at McLeod Wholesalers, so I closed the fridge door, planted my hands on my hips, and mustered a smile.

"All right, guys, who's got my lunch? It's not much—tuna salad sandwich, carrot sticks, and low-fat chips."

Six co-workers sat in the tiny break room at round, cafeteria-style tables, while three more employees filed into the room. Two people, while eating and studying their crossword puzzles, didn't look up. Three others looked at me and shrugged. It was handsome Alex Martin, the single guy from accounting with the honey-brown eyes, who smiled and said, "Forgot your lunch? Sit down. I'll share. I've got plenty."

The word "forgot" rang in my ears like a gong. Darn! This morning I was running late, and in my haste I had forgotten my lunch. I clearly pictured it still sitting on the kitchen table.

"Be my guest," Alex said, pointing at a chair across from himself, his smile devastating.

I didn't eat lunch in the break room. I always grabbed my bag from the fridge, hurried back to my cubicle desk, ate quickly, then donned my headset and began working again. Staying busy, working hard, studying, and avoiding people—especially handsome men—I'd found, was the easiest way to mend a broken heart.

With his foot, Alex pushed out the chair. "Have a seat," he said, still smiling. Don't be bashful."

I'm not a bashful person, and I would've refused Alex's offer regardless of how gorgeous he looked—I loved his curly, rusty-brown hair. But I was hungry. I'd had time this morning for only a piece of toast slathered with peanut butter and jelly and a glass of orange juice. I couldn't face the thought of working in my cubicle this afternoon—starving.

"You're very kind, Mr. Martin," I said, sitting across from him. "You're right. I forgot my lunch. No one has stolen it."

"Happens," he said. "You get up late, rush around and bang, you forget your lunch." Then, "Call me Alex. I know you're Erin Mackenzie—I asked about you. And I'm glad to meet you."

With that, smiling again,

Alex unwrapped a huge ham sandwich with Swiss cheese, then set out celery sticks, and a big red apple, which he cut in two with a jackknife.

My intention was to eat quickly, leave abruptly, and avoid a long, soul-revealing conversation with Alex, but I realized since he was sharing his lunch with me, leaving would be rude, so I listened as he told me about himself. He'd earned a degree in accounting from State University four years ago, had worked elsewhere for a couple of years, and had been with McLeod only six months. I gathered he wasn't dating and wasn't married.

His charm curled its way into my heart. His brown eyes seemed to flash, and his voice held a deep, friendly timber. I told him I'd been with the firm three years and, going to school part time, I would complete my degree in retail management shortly. I wasn't dating, either. And then I said, "You asked about me?"

"Beautiful woman grabs her lunch from the fridge everyday, talks to no one, then hurries off to her cubicle—I was curious."

A lot of gossip goes on around here, so I was sure Alex already knew about my wedding fiasco. I didn't mention it, and by the time we finished sharing his lunch—which I thoroughly enjoyed—we were talking and laughing as if we'd know each other for years.

Alex glanced at his watch, and then his gaze swept over me. "Five minutes left. Listen, Erin, I know we've only just met—"

Oh my! Was he going to ask me for a date? I wasn't ready for that. But he seemed to be such an outgoing guy, charisma written all over him, that I might be tempted. Still, what was I to do with the vivid picture of Rick leaving me at the altar that flashed in my brain daily?

I shoved my chair back, ready to rise and escape.

"Erin, what I wanted to say is we should do this more often. You know, have lunch together."

The thought startled me. But made perfect sense. So simple. Lunch together. Get better acquainted. Maybe that picture of me alone on the altar would fade and eventually disappear.

My heart somersaulted. What I was about to do seemed totally unlike me. I took a deep breath. Smiling at Alex, I said, "I'll bring lunch for both of us tomorrow. You won't be disappointed."

The End
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A Rainy Day

The rap on the driver's side window of my Jeep Cherokee startled me. I push-buttoned the window down, and my heart jumped. Derrick Reid, the owner of Reid Electronics, the man who had interviewed me only hours ago, poked his head inside my vehicle.

The late afternoon rain had soaked him.

Me, too, before I'd dived into my Jeep. He blinked in the torrent.

"May I join you?" He jumped as thunder clapped overhead.

"Door's not locked."

He piled inside. Slammed the door. I push-buttoned his window up, then started the Cherokee and cranked on the heater/defroster.

"Sorry to pester you," he said, swabbing the rain off his face with the palm of his hand. "My car won't start. Won't turn over at all. Not a sound."

"I've got jumper cables."

"Good. I...can't find mine."     

"Could be a loose battery cable or a starter, though."

He blinked again, probably wondering how a woman could know such things. The résumé of mine that he'd reviewed before interviewing me today for a position as his executive secretary, didn't include the fact that I was born and raised on a farm where my family and I drove nothing but old vehicles constantly in need of repair.

But from my résumé he knew my marital status: Single. And my age: twenty-eight. And my work history in his company, starting as a receptionist and quickly working my way up to a junior secretary.

"When you got in the car," I said, "did your dome lights go on?"

He thought a moment. His curly, wet hair was walnut-brown, his eyes a shade darker. My heart started to leapfrog, just as it had when I first sat down in front of his desk for my interview—which didn't go very well. Again I pursed my lips and scolded myself: Get a grip, Judy. Maybe he's only thirty-something and single but he's the big boss.

"The dome lights came on," he said. "Radio, too. And the windshield wipers."

"It's not a dead battery. Or a loose cable. A jump won't do you any good. It's probably your starter."

He glanced at his watch.

"You in a hurry?" I asked.

A strong gust of wind blasted my Cherokee and rain swept across the windshield.

"Umm...not really," he said, but he looked sheepish.

"What are you driving?"

"Eighty-seven Cadillac."

I tried not to look surprised because I didn't want to embarrass him. I mean, the CEO driving an old car like that—I couldn't believe it. But he must have sensed my surprise because he said , "Look, when I was ten, I could build a computer component by component. At twelve, I could hack into my school district's computer system to change a friend's grade, but cars I know nothing about. They don't impress me. "

"I've got a cell phone, I can call a wrecker."

Thunder and lightning rocked us.

He shot another glance at his watch. "I need to get home," he said. "It's...well, it's Beasley."

"Beasley?"

"My Basset hound—a big baby, afraid of thunder and lighting. He's going berserk right now."

A smile rippled across my face. "Well, why didn't you say so, Mr. Reid? I'll give you a ride home. You can all a wrecker in the morning. Will you need a ride to work?"

"I'll  call a cab."

"Nonsense. I'll pick you up, if you like."

He shook his head. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Why not?"

I felt his gaze on me, a gaze far different from his all-business look when he interviewed me. This was a warm, appreciative gaze. "Um...all right," he said. "If you're sure you don't mind."

"I don't."

Windshield wipers clacking, headlights on, I pulled out of my parking spot onto the street and drove slowly through the rain.

"May I offer you something, Miss Allison? Gas money...?"

"Absolutely not, Mr. Reid."

"May I call you Judy? Call me Derrick."

"I'd like that...Derrick."

"I'm sorry about your interview." Now he sounded contrite. "I hope you're not terribly disappointed."

"I'm not. I knew going in I lacked experience."

"Let me assure you, Judy, you have a great future with the company."

"Thank you. "

Silence for a moment.

"Look," he said, "Driving me from and to work, that's not part of your job description. I'm thinking perhaps dinner tomorrow night. Sort of my humble way of saying thanks."

My pulse spiked, my heart started that leapfrogging again, and I felt warm despite being soaked.

"Dinner would be nice."

"You choose the place."

"All right." I stole a glance at him.

He was smiling at me hugely—a warm smile—and I smiled back.

"We look like drowned rats," he said.        

"No doubt," I said, but I was thinking I'd never seen a lovelier rainy day.

The End
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