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- Romantic Fiction -- 1000 Words Or Less -- Shopping with Sophie
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- Romantic Fiction -- 1000 Words Or Less -- Shopping with Sophie
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- Romantic Fiction -- 1000 Words Or Less -- Shopping with Sophie
- Home
- Original Fiction
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- Romantic Fiction -- 1000 Words Or Less -- Shopping with Sophie
- Home
- Original Fiction
- Romantic Fiction -- 1000 Words Or Less -- Shopping with Sophie
Romantic Fiction -- 1000 Words Or Less -- Shopping with Sophie
- By Martha Meyer
- Published 10/11/2008
- Romance
-
Rating:




Martha Meyer
Martha V. Meyer was born in the United States but raised and educated in Europe before settling in Southern California. She's a philosopher, gym rat, and writer of genre fiction.
View all articles by Martha MeyerSophie turned her head in the direction I’d indicated.
“Fiona, he’s following us,” she murmured. “He was in dairy when we got the cheese.”
Following us was a nice way of putting it. When I went out with Sophie, it was she who’d draw attention -- blonde, slender, and long-legged. My own, full-figured body type seemed to be out of favor with the male population.
I cast another glance at the tall, dark stranger, who was contemplating a package of oatmeal. He lifted his head, and for a brief moment our eyes met. He blushed and looked away.
Sophie pretended to study the preserves, all the while peeping at our follower. “Have you seen his hands? Adorable!”
“I’ll take myself off,” I suggested. “He’s intimidated by your having a companion. I’ll see you at check-out.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m sure he’s after you. He totally ignores me, but he keeps looking at you, when he thinks you’re not paying attention.”
It sounded
so good I wanted it to be true.
Sophie took off, leaving me with the cart. A minute later, I stood in front of the shampoos, convincing myself that the stranger was interested in me. I slipped into a daydream involving a trip to the mountains with him, my Labrador cavorting around us while we picnicked in a sunny clearing …
It didn’t take long for me to get back down to earth. Nobody was approaching me, not even the cheese sample guy. I gave my admirer another minute (which I painstakingly followed out on my watch, adding an additional thirty seconds for unforeseen circumstances), then decided to rejoin Sophie.
I pushed
my cart out of canned goods and saw them walking down the centre aisle together.
Why had I allowed myself to get my hopes up? I wanted to hide in the next
aisle, but in my haste I tripped over my own feet. Loosing my balance, I tried
to grab a hold of the cart, missed it, and pushed it into a stack of tomato
cans instead. As I hit the ground, the container pyramid collapsed under the
impact of my cart. It was the most humiliating moment ever: I lay prostrate on
the floor, surrounded by myriad tomato cans, crimson with embarrassment.
Literally everyone in the store stared at me, including the man I had mistaken
for an admirer.
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