Lesley tapped her foot and sighed. Coming to a mega electronics store the day after Christmas seemed like a small task earlier in the evening. Drop in, exchange the Breakfast at Tiffany’s Blu-ray disc for a DVD copy, and get back to her pajamas and Christmas leftovers. An hour later, she was fifth in line.

“I see you’re a fan of the classics.” The man behind her had managed to hit on every female within five feet. She escaped his snare by not making eye contact and being preoccupied with the newsstand rags. The man leaned in and peeked over her shoulder. “Oldies are the goodies.” The minty smell of muscle cream and spicy aftershave accosted her nose. 

Realizing it wasn’t cinematic choices he was referring to, she threw back a response without turning around,“I’m not really into the oldies. I just have a thing for Audrey Hepburn.” 

His name was Larry. She knew this because Larry had introduced himself to every female who came within ten feet of him. He had moved to Oklahoma to be closer to his kids, who then moved to Nebraska to be farther away from him. He spent his days playing cards at a nearby “old farts village”—his words not hers— and personally vouched for the freshness of the catfish at the twenty-four hour buffet across the street. 

“Humph. Well, that figures. You can’t blame a man for trying. It’s hard to tell these days. None of us ever thought Rock Hudson was batting for the other team either.”

Lesley nodded, turned her attention back to the front of the line, but then spun a one-eighty to look him in the eye. “Wait, you think I’m—I’m—a homosexual?” 

“Well, you said you had a thing for Audrey, so I was just assuming—”

She rolled her eyes realizing her subtle rub off had been lost in translation. “I’m not attracted to Audrey Hepburn. Sure, she was a classic beauty.” 

Larry cocked a brow. 

“I don’t mean it like that! I’m just saying, I’m a fan of her movies, but I like men. Seriously, I like men!” 

Perhaps her confession was a few decibels too high because every eye within a twenty-foot radius settled on the two of them.

Larry kept staring at her, like he was solving a complicated math problem. He reached up and twisted at the scraggly grays peeking over the top of his jacket zipper. A sly grin spread across his face. “So you’re saying you are attracted to me.”

Lesley blinked and shook her head. 

“Honey, don’t bother.” The woman in front of her turned and piped in. “Men are pigs. Even my son is a pig. What kind of man lets his mother spend Christmas Day alone?”

As if Lesley just grew fur and a wagging tail, Larry pushed by her to get closer to Redheaded Mother-Scorned. 

“What?” Larry began, his facial wrinkles lapping over one another in faux concern. “A lovely woman like you?” 

Lesley took a couple of steps back, allowing room for Larry to move closer to his new object of affection. This pushed her farther down the line, but at least she was off the hook for all-you-can-eat catfish.

Twenty minutes passed. Four more customers stood between her and the register. She shifted in her heeled boots, trying to relieve the numbness, when the Star Wars “Imperial March” blared from somewhere deep inside her purse. The Vader ringtone was reserved for one caller and one caller only. Marian, mother Marian that is. She rummaged through her bag and pushed the decline button as a shooting pain radiated up from her left foot.

Her eyes fixed on a black boot grinding her little toe into the white tile. Jerking her leg, she prayed for freedom, but nothing budged except her balance, and with a girlish scream she fell back into the gum display. The boot clad ogre never saw her. His focus trained on carrying a giant flat screen TV to the front of the service line. He shuffled on, releasing the blood flow back into her foot, which made it hurt even worse. Fighting back to an upright position, she watched the man who had left her disabled and clinging to the Chiclets continue to the front and set his TV on the counter.

Somewhere in that moment, the seed of indignant line-cutting revulsion, planted in her formative years at Valley Elementary, grew in the pit of her stomach. Heat rose from her gut to her cheeks as the throbbing in her smashed foot echoed the pounding in her chest. This was one of those moments her therapist talked about. Her mind shifted into overdrive trying to access anger management tools. Deep breaths. Count to ten. One, two, three, four. She was almost to six when the brute half turned and spoke with an accent that oozed Piccadilly street and afternoon tea. 

“Sorry, love.” 

Sorry, love? The man amputated her left toe, cut to the front of the line, and then threw, “Sorry, love,” over his shoulder? As if a British accent and cheeky colloquialism would make her swoon!

“Sorry, love!” she mocked as her fingers gripped the DVD and, without a pause, sent it hurling through the air. Despite her lack of athletic experience, her aim was dead on. The DVD soared end over end, past stunned faces, and smacked its target with a crack. The moment of impact was sobering. Lesley hid her own shock, fearing a cringe would act as an admission of guilt. Chin high and lips pursed, she maintained her indignation as the man rubbed his hand across the back of his head and turned to locate his attacker. Her stomach dropped as she got a good look at her nemesis. Droplets of rain clung to the fringes of his brown hair, framing the kind of face artists painted in chapels or chiseled out of stone. His gaze landed, and her indomitable façade melted. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring like an idiot, but the green in his eyes was fixating. She debated mentally the exact color, moss or sage, when Larry snapped her back into reality with a hearty pat on the back. “Wow! What an arm!” 

Lesley’s rose-colored glasses shattered. The handsome face before her was not sharing the same moment of rapture, having just been pegged in the back of the head. She bit her lower lip, and then uttered the only word that came to mind. 

“Oops.” 

Mr. Green Eyes turned his attention back to the counter. Lesley slunk behind Larry and tried to ignore the whispering onlookers. It wasn’t until she heard the salesgirl ask the man if he wanted to call the police that she took a peek.

This was bad. Englishmen had a terrifying history of how they dealt with quarrelsome women. Visions of axes and the Tower of London flashed in her mind. 

“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. I think Christmas is a good time for showing a little kindness.” He turned and fastened those stormy greens on her. “Don’t you, love?”

Lesley cleared the lump from her throat and turned her attention to texts and emails trying to ignore all the whispers and stares. Eventually, the customer service line began to move again. She looked around and didn’t see any sign of Mr. Green Eyes. A teen wearing a store uniform passed by, and she feigned interest in the candy display as he walked up to the counter. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught Larry and a few others giving him a nod in her direction. 

“Come with me please, ma’am.” The child associate summoned her out of line.

“Oh, come on. I’ve waited forever. Just let me make one quick return. I promise I’ll leave after I’m done.” One hand was holding a Snickers bar and the other held up a sign of solemn swear, but her chocolate coated oath had no effect. Weighing every movement, as if the candy were a Colt .45, he gently removed it from her hand and placed it back on the display. Once the nougat-filled hostage was safe, he took her by the elbow and nudged her toward the front of the store.

“I just need to make an exchange. I don’t even have a Blu-ray player!”  She looked to the masses for support, but no one made eye contact.

“Ma’am. I saw the security tape. Anyone who assaults another customer has to vacate the premises immediately.”

“I would hardly call that an assault,” Lesley muttered as he prodded her to the door.

“This is off the record.” He looked around and leaned in. “But us guys in the back thought it was actually kind of cool.”

Lesley rolled her eyes, but an opportunity came to light and a smile spread across her face. “Why, thank you.” She glanced at his name tag. “Jimmy. I’m so glad you understand and appreciate my situation.” She flashed him a smile. “I know you’re just doing your job, and it’s refreshing to see a young man take his career seriously.” She wiggled her arm out of his grip and then looped hers around his as they walked out of the sliding doors. “I’m sure the manager wouldn’t have left you in charge if he didn’t have absolute confidence in your abilities.” His posture straightened a couple of inches under her flattery. Pulling him to a stop on the sidewalk, she turned to face him. “This is your only store for a hundred miles. I just need a little help from someone in charge, someone powerful.” She gazed up at him from under her lashes. “Someone like you,” she said, pointing a finger into his non-existent bicep.

“Whoa!” He took a step back, letting her arm fall. “You are way too old for me.”

“I’m not asking you on a date!” Her charm dropped and shattered on the concrete. “I just need you to help me!”

“Lady, my boss would fire me if I let a crazy back in the store.” 

“Crazy?” Lesley choked. “Let’s not overreact. I was hurt and a bit disgruntled maybe. You guys deal with unhappy customers all the time. I bet your boss won’t even hear about this.” 

“Oh, he’ll know.” Jimmy’s mouth spread into a wide Cheshire Cat grin. “One of the guys nabbed it from the security tape and uploaded it. He’ll probably get fired, but it already has like 4000 views. He added some cool sound effects and slo-mo. It’s called, Assault with a Deadly DVD.” He grinned and nodded his approval like it was Academy Award worthy.

Lesley left him on the sidewalk and started toward her car.

“Hey, could I get a pic with you holding the DVD?” he yelled after her.

She didn’t respond. She got in her car, turned up the heat, and allowed her head to fall against the steering wheel, letting her temper cool and the engine warm up. A tap on the window interrupted her pity party, but the windows were still covered with frost. Afraid it was Jimmy back for an autograph, she cracked the window just an inch. 

“Yes?” 

She heard some rustling of plastic, and then a movie case popped through the small opening and landed in her lap. She grabbed the case and turned it over. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the DVD version.  

“Jimmy, you’re a doll!” 

But her excitement melted to confusion as she met the eyes peering back at her through the cracked window. They weren’t Jimmy’s puppy dog browns. They were green with little flecks of gold.  Lesley’s stomach did a backflip as she fumbled for the window control. To her horror, she rolled it back up, and the figure outside turned to walk away. Her fingers missed a couple more buttons before she got the window back down.

”Hey! Wait!”

The man turned. “Are you speaking to me? Because where I come from, hay is fed to livestock, not used as a greeting for someone who just offered a token of forgiveness.”

The playful glint in his expression raked her nerves. 

“Token of forgiveness? You, who smashed my foot and got me kicked out of the store, are forgiving me?” She glared, but it was hard to maintain impertinence with him and all his outlanderness staring back at her, so she went with the nose-in-the-air-and-stare-straight-ahead maneuver.

“Well, sir, there is no forgiveness to give because I was not asking for it, therefore you cannot give it, but if you’re willing to accept it, I might just think about forgiving you, but you would have to ask for it first.”

Her eyes flickered over to him, and she caught a twitch of a smile before he looked down at the asphalt. Familiar heat rose to her cheeks. She was done being everyone’s entertainment. “Well if laughing at me is your answer, Mr. London Bridge, you can take your little token of forgiveness and row, row, row your merrily little green-eyed self back across the stream!”  

Now he was all out chuckling. “What does that even mean?” He took a couple of steps, closing the gap between them. “Are you quoting nursery rhymes?”  

Lesley rolled the window back up a few inches. 

“English nursery rhymes, but if you really were from England, you would know that!” 

Her stone-face glare began to crack as he moved closer. The man placed both hands on top of the car and leaned down until his eyes were level with hers. A heady mix of amber and sweet cloves whirled in and mingled with the heat, filling her car with dizzying masculinity. 

“Well, love. That particular DVD is yours, no strings of forgiveness attached. The store wanted to keep the other disc.” He paused and raised one perfectly arched brow. “For evidence.”  

Lesley tried to swallow, but her throat closed off.

“I purchased that one for you as a peace offering.”

She peeled her eyes away from his and glanced down at the movie in her hands. 

She owed him an apology, but a simple, “I’m sorry,” was too shallow. She needed to explain her day, her week, good grief, he needed a dissertation on her entire family history to sufficiently understand. 

Stumbling for an opener she turned to face him, but before she spoke, Mr. Green Eyes stood, tapped his hand on the hood, and said, “Well, take care, love.” And he was gone.