2

2

Pips

It was true, I'd been the only staff member to volunteer for the Demonstration Days initiative. Obviously, I had gullible mug printed across my forehead. It was the classic case of everyone else looking down, leaving Tamara, our manager, to catch my eyes alone. No point in me protesting I'd booked the week off because… well, as I'd told Lina, I didn't need it now. And, as I'd also said, you didn't say ‘no' to a Head Office directive.

It was a corporate ‘Hurrah!' for demonstrations of products and recipes on weekday mornings, full of fun and facts and, hopefully, fabulous sales! We'd be the talk of the Kingsmere shopping parade, apparently. Or the laughing-stock? But we all knew the YBB store was only a small local branch and times were hard. There were rumours about closures across the country. Admittedly, Tamara had looked a little uncertain when I was the one to step up for the challenge, but I assured her I'd suffer the indignity, gird my loins, and get it done.

She'd looked even more uncertain, but my loins were girded by then.

Back in-store, I'd gathered quite an audience as I emptied the first ingredients into the large bowl. The crowd included Lina and her nosey cashiers from tills #1 and #2; Mrs G whom I was pretty sure was past retirement age by now, but was so bloody good on the customer Help Desk we didn't dare let her go; and Mr G, her husband, who'd brought a folding stool and was perched only three feet away, with an open packet of YBB-Value biscuits in his lap and his gaze fixed on me like I was on the verge of winning the Academy Award for food preparation.

Several customers had also paused in the aisle, watching with interest. At least, that's what I hoped explained that glazed look.

"Today we're making gazpacho, a cold Spanish soup that's quick and easy to prepare, and a delightful go-to on hot summer days." God, I sounded like the worst kind of breakfast show presenter. "I've got the onions, garlic, peppers, tomatoes, and a slice of bread already roughly chopped…" I saw Mr G's gleeful nod: his dentures would be grateful the bread had the crusts cut off. "… since we can't run a food processor at the moment, not here in a supermarket aisle."

"Bloody stupid Health and Safety rules. I offered to jerry-rig a spur to the mains," I heard Lina mutter, but I pointedly ignored it.

"Then, voilà! I add the passata, stock, oil, and vinegar. As much spicy Tabasco as you like, or harissa—"

"Which you can find on aisle 6," called Shanaz, till #2, helpfully.

"—sugar and seasoning," I continued with a glare at her for breaking my concentration. Where was I? My bloody script had seemed easy enough when I glanced at my crumpled notes on the bus this morning. "Mix it all in together. Let's tangle those tastebuds, and stir up your sensory saliva glands!" This was more like fun. I flicked the soup around the bowl like I was taking it in a tango around Blackpool Tower Ballroom. "Then cover it, and let it chill for a few hours in the fridge. Pop out the popcorn and turn on the Netflix. We all need a rest after such exhausting physical exercise, right?"

Someone giggled, and "When do we get to taste it?" called someone else, which sounded a lot like Mr G.

"Where's the meat?" muttered a plump man to his partner, the two of them leaning on their trolley to watch as they shared a thick ham sandwich.

"It's very red," murmured a young mother, peering over Mr G's shoulder.

"Red. Red !" shrieked the toddler in the pushchair she was wheeling around. Everyone jumped, apart from Mr G who sneaked a biscuit to the child. The crowd was shifting restlessly. Was I losing my audience?

"Don't worry, there are some ready-to-eat portions that I prepared earlier," I said, in time-honoured fashion. "It will make a tasty and filling vegetarian soup for lunch for six or…" I paused, looked at Mr G who was all but panting in anticipation, and I revised the servings downwards. "Or four."

"I agree, it looks very tasty," came a voice from just behind me. "It's definitely making me hungry."

The man who'd spoken edged his way past a bunch of mums on my left, with a "excuse me" and a "sorry, thanks" or three. When I glanced over, his gaze met mine. He looked a little flustered, maybe even nervous. I couldn't think what the hell he'd be nervous about, unless it was the threat of being stabbed by a shopping basket, or the way those broad shoulders had been squashed into his unforgiving YBB uniform. I didn't know him, but the management were always trying out new temps, especially over the summer months, so he'd probably only just started. He looked a few years older than me, stockier, with an expensive haircut, I'd say—although it didn't stop an unruly kink over one ear bouncing in a very cheeky way as he moved into the crowd. So sweet . Considering my currently jaded view of romance, and still smarting from my slimeball ex, I was surprised my heart gave such a hopeful hiccup.

When our eyes met again, I brazenly winked at him. There was an answering twinkle in his eyes—ohhh, and baby-blue, my very favourite!—that felt like he was joining in the fun with me. My pulse gave an instinctive flutter, to match my heart. What was his name? Was he gay? He certainly responded to me like he was. So why hadn't Lina introduced us already?

And, my final question: had I seen anyone as sexy this whole year? If anyone could look good in polyester, it was him.

Mr G patted the newcomer on the arm, announcing like some grand benefactor, "Stand here beside me, lad, you can call me Mr G. The show's already started, but you can catch up. Pips is always a treat to watch."

"I'll bet," the man said, and blushed. Even sweeter! And so polite. YBB temps weren't often known for great customer service skills, at least not on day one. But Blue-Eyes glanced at me again, and—yes, it was a definite blush. I could bask in that for hours. Though if he was a new hire, shouldn't he be getting on with his duties?

Then I cast a look at the group gathered in front of me—most of whom should be getting on with whatever their duties were, not gawping at me—and generously decided, in the inimitable words of my favourite karaoke song, to let it go .