The Perfect Match(a) — Part 1
A Trader Joe’s Fan Fic
Love can take you by surprise, so they say. I never expected to find it that Saturday morning, racing through the vegan hotdog-eat-vegan hotdog chaos of Trader Joe’s on 14th Street.
I was a frustrated, hot mess. I’d made the horrible choice to put on a pair of jeans. I don’t know, maybe I had a minor brain aneurysm when I was going through my closet? My hip bones were not having it and my hair kept getting caught in the sticky, humid terrarium of my mask. I felt like I’d circled the frozen aisles endlessly in search of problematically named microwaveable Chinese meals when suddenly, I heard a deep voice behind me.
“Can I help you find something?” I turned. A strong aroma of hemp and sriracha washed over me.
His nut-brown hair was tied back in a disheveled man bun, accented perfectly by an unkempt beard that disappeared into a mask patterned with tri-colored chili peppers. I glanced at the name tag intersecting the hibiscus flower on his slightly unzipped hoodie, “Andrew — Team Member.” His eyes took my breath away, or maybe it was my double-mask situation, I know I didn’t adjust the bottom layer correctly so I can’t be sure. Anyways, back to his eyes.
They were a silky golden-hazel, reminiscent of TJ’s non-dairy oat beverage swirled together with everyone’s favorite autumnal staple, pumpkin butter.
“I- I-” I stuttered. Say something Caroline, you blubbering idiot!
“Orange Chicken-less Man Morsel,” I eeked out. “Uh, I mean, More Man Morsel Chicken.” The tiny, visible part of my face between my masks and hat turned bright red. His beautiful eyes bored into me. A tendril of frizzy hair escaped his ear. He pushed it back into place, keeping his gaze locked on me.
“Unfortunately we’re out-of-stock out here,” he said slowly enunciating his words with the energy of a surfer just coming off a great wave. He glanced away for a second to point to the sad, empty food cooler next to me.
I sighed, “Ok, thanks anyways.” My heart was beating so fast as I turned away.
“But hey,” I heard him call after me. I felt a zap go through me like a gyoza potsticker hitting hot oil.
“I think we have more in the back. Would you like to come with me?”
