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After Maybelle had dropped the “I am going to college” bomb, Chelsea had decided to make it her personal mission to teach Maybelle how to drive again. Luckily, driving had been like riding a bike. While her mind wouldn’t let her remember specific driving experiences it recalled the workings of a vehicle like it was second nature.
Maybelle’s hippocampus and the rest of the temporal lobe were truly fickle things.Damn big words, guess she was learning a thing or two in that— what class was it again?Never mind.
“I will be fine, Chels, I promise. I will be back in no time.”She took Chelsea’s car to the store full of last-minute holiday shoppers.
Maybelle’s phone buzzed just as she rounded her cart through the produce section and a smile tightened her lips when she saw Trey’s name at the top of the screen.
Trey: Hey Mayhem, I’m about
halfway there. Just finished filling
up the tank in some random place
called Kettleman city, it’s rustic, I
think you’d like it. We should stop
here together on our way back so
you can see it. Anyway, should be
there just in time for dinner unless
traffic gets ridiculous. Cross our
fingers it’s smooth travels.
Maybelle snickered at the rambled message and the picture that came in after. Trey, in all his gorgeous, masculine glory took a selfie like a Facebook mom with a cute row of Old West looking buildings behind him. It definitely was rustic, and it was definitely a place Maybelle would love to see.
Maybelle: You know me too well, Turner.
We should absolutely make a pit stop there
on the way back. I am so excited
to see you! Fingers crossed I
see you sooner rather than later,
hurry home to me.
There was another ping from her phone, but Maybelle stuffed the device back into her pocket to move out of the path of a small family of three trying to get to the potatoes she was standing directly in front of.
“Sorry.” Maybelle squeaked with an apologetic grin.
She needed to get out of this place, and quickly grab the seasonings and various ingredients Chelsea asked for. Maybelle was feeling a little overwhelmed, especially as she stepped in the way of another woman trying to get to the carrots, the lady looked ready to rip Maybelle’s head clean off her shoulders and it was a little unnerving.
Despite that encounter, Maybelle was proud of herself for doing something for Chelsea all alone. It made her feel accomplished and reliable, so she used that puffed up feeling to push past the unsteadiness in her gut and find her way to the seasoning's aisle.
Still, there was a fraction of her subconscious feeling extremely— twitchy— like if she were to look up, she would be under a spotlight and everyone in the surrounding area would be watching, scrutinizing.
“Excuse me.” Maybelle said brushing by an immovable wall of a man, a very chemical smell assaulting her senses when she noticed his navy-blue tee, bright white letters decorating the front of it. Maybelle didn’t look long enough to see what the words read, only continued to prod her way through people with the required spices and items in hand, aimed on getting herself to the checkout area.
Almost there, she just needed to stand in line, pay, and she could be outside on her way back home. Waiting her turn in line, Maybelle let her wandering eyes focus as the cutest, chubbiest baby, in a cart basket in front of her, laughed hysterically at his parents playing peekaboo with him.
Maybelle liked babies; Maybelle wanted babies. Preferably babies with caramel curls and green eyes.
Navy-blue caught the corner of Maybelle’s eye, and she glanced up to find what she guessed was the guy she’d stumbled into from earlier. He was tall, dressed a little lazily in stained lounge pants, that navy-blue shirt and—oh holy hell, he was staring into her damned soul half hidden behind a rack of produce.
