A bell rang, a sweet chime, bringing Janet’s head up from the magazine on the counter. A white car slid to a stop at the gas pumps, illuminated by the overhead fluorescents, idling in place. The headlights sliced into the night, piercing the storm, exposing a wide swath of pounding rain and fast moving clouds. The passenger side door opened and a man eased out, stretching as he adjusted the hood on his black zip-up sweatshirt. The headlights cut off, the darkness beyond the awning rushing back in, as he glanced around.
She could not see his face clearly, not through the rain and the blur of condensation on the windows, just a pale oval in the dark fabric of the hood. He was tall, lanky, with clothes that even at a distance looked too expensive for Hickory, North Carolina. She glanced at the car, not a model she recognized but sleek and stylish too and waited to see if he would come inside to pay first, hand hovering over the button that opened the speaker connection from her spot behind the register. He moved toward the pump with long easy strides, not even a moment of hesitation, leaving no doubt.
“I’m sorry sir, you'll have to pay inside first.”
He changed direction, heading toward the convenience store, leaving the shelter of the awning behind. The fluorescent lights receded, seeming to dim as he neared, the song on the radio changing as the door opened and he stepped inside. Rain danced in, a rolling call of thunder shivering across the sky. He brought the scents of sunshine and deep woods, the sound of crackling leaves and rushing water, more than just the storm he had passed through.
Janet straightened, pushing her magazine aside, smoothing her features into a polite mask. No show of curiosity, ignoring the small twist in her stomach. She looked up and away, toying with the pages of the magazine, the ruffled worn edges. He was handsome, something strangely solid about him coming in out of the night, something electric in being here, now. A shiver raced up her spine, the hair on her arms standing.
“I’m sorry about the machine,” she said, touching the register, focusing on the keys, hand hovering. “How much would you like on the pump?”
He did not respond, reaching out to touch the magazine, sliding it closer to get a better look. The pages flipped, going through an interview with a landscape artist, a two page spread of Appalachian Mountains. Janet studied him, the curve of his mouth, the long lashes. Dark hair brushed past his shoulders and curled into a tangle of dampened strands that dripped on the page. He looked up, meeting her gaze in a shock of blue, intently focused on her.
She felt seen, the sharpness of his gaze, the hard directness of it.
I see you.
“You’re a photographer?”
His voice shocked her, the timber low and thrumming with the beat of the rain. The coffee machine hissed across the room, the whine of the refrigerated cases cycling through, overhead the lights flickered.
He tapped the magazine, a professional publication she indulged even though she had not turned her photography into anything more than a hobby, a final credit for college. She shook her head no but said, “Yes.”
One eyebrow went up, his mouth curving with the motion, his smile something soft and secret, a dimple flashing. “Either you are, or you aren’t.”
She opened her mouth, ready to confirm or deny again but his look left her tongue tied, knots twisting, and muscle memory took over. Her hand moved to hover over the keypad and she asked, "How much would you like on the pump?”
The man glanced through the fogged windows, to the white car with its black tint and expectation. It shimmered through the rain, almost vibrating with pent up speed even without the keys in the ignition. He pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill from his wallet and passed it over.
“Twenty should do it.”
Janet rang it up, keeping her eyes on the machine, feeling the man on the other side of the counter like a toothache. The receipt rolled out, and she handed it over, the paper clinging to her, stuck. He took it and their hands brushed, making her jerk back, shocked at the moment of contact.
"Thank you, have a good night." Her words came out together, jumbled and tumbling as if she had only now discovered speech, and she decided to double down and add her best awkward smile. Not that she had wanted to impress him, impossible now even if she had, but not being seen for the complete idiot she was would have been nice.
“So, are you?”
She looked up, swift, eyes darting away from his stare. “What?”
“You didn’t answer. You said yes but shook your head.” He laughed, wadding the receipt into a ball, passing it from hand to hand. He tossed it at the half-hidden trashcan behind the counter and she turned just in time to watch it fall into the basket.
“Have a good night!” he called, already halfway to the door. Thunder rattled the windows, growling low in the sky, a flash of lightning throwing him into stark relief against the night.
Janet watched him through the rain, as he pumped gas and rounded the car to ease back into the passenger seat. The lights flicked on, cutting into night, illuminating nothing but the end of the lot and the large trash bins. The car eased forward, turning and coming around.
As the car drew even with her the driver’s side window rolled down a little, and she caught a glimpse of a woman behind the wheel, blond with sharp eyes. Janet met the gaze, the challenge in it, not understanding, and the car passed, red taillights fading.