Page 1 of That's a Wrap

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PETER

Seriously, it’s not that cold.

Even in November, Magnolia Point is warm and humid. Not hot, mind you, but definitely warm. And since I’m used to the brisk, dreary fall weather in New York, I’m able to brave the sixty-degree temps in just a t-shirt and jeans. Apparently, that’s the wrong move to make, seeing as every other person in this town finds anything under eighty to be downright chilly.

A few people shoot sidelong glances at me as I walk down Main Street, pulling their jackets tighter around themselves as if just looking at my bare arms makes them cold. I’m tempted to start flexing and give them a show. After all, I’ve worked hard on these pythons I have stuffed through my shirt sleeves and they deserve some attention. Instead of giving in to vanity, I just smile politely.

Since I only moved here a week ago, I don’t want to make any bad first impressions with anyone. Or bad second or third or any number, for that matter. I prefer to only give people good impressions of me. Now, my younger brother might disagree, but I strongly believe life is just easier if people like you.Nate,on the other hand, will tell you that life is easier if you avoid everyone. Thank God I’m not a hermit like him.

So for every person who raises an eyebrow at my arguably normal attire, I wave and give them a cheerfulgood afternoongreeting. A few people offer a reply, but most wince and look away, as if they didn’t expect to get caught staring at the new guy in town.

Although I love the attention, I hope it dies down soon. I moved to Magnolia Point for a fresh start, not to be gawked at like a circus performer. If I want to blend in, I guess I’ll have to wear a jacket regardless of the temperature outside. Seems kind of weird to me, but I can conform.

My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t had lunch yet. Glancing around, I spot the Riverside Cafe, a small restaurant a little farther down the street. So I head that way, excited to try out some local food.

A small chalkboard is placed outside the door that reads:

National Sandwich Day!

Please enjoy a free sandwich with

a purchase of chips and a drink!

The handwriting is loopy and feminine with a smiley face and what looks like a crudely drawn sandwich doodled to the side of the text. However, if I tilt my head just a bit, it looks more like a sailboat. Whether it’s supposed to be a sandwich or a boat, it’s cute, in a small-town-charm kind of way, and I can’t help but smile.

There are also multiple awards and placards decorating the door and window of the cafe, impressing me before I even walk into the building. Then, the moment I enter, I’m hit with the thick, delicious scent of fresh-baked bread and my mouthimmediately begins to water. There are a handful of tables scattered around, each with a different number of colorful chairs, as if they were rearranged by patrons and haven’t been put back to their rightful spots. The floor is scuffed from years of shoes and chair legs scraping over it, but otherwise very clean.

What really draws me in, though, are the various photographs and pictures that cover the walls. Some of them appear to be professionally taken and some look amateur. There are even a few blurry selfies mixed in among the frames. There’s something about the pictures that draws me in, the way the photographer is able to capture the beauty in the mundane, catching that moment of joy on someone’s face when they weren’t looking. It’s mesmerizing and heartwarming.

My admiration gets cut short when a voice calls out, “I’ll be with you in one moment, sir!”

Tearing my eyes away from the photos, I turn around and throw out my signature charismatic smile. I’m about to respond when I finally see who greeted me, and my reply gets caught in my throat. A young woman who couldn’t be older than her mid-twenties stands behind the deli counter. Her thick black hair is pulled into a single braid with a few loose curls framing her face. There are faint freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and nose, the last remnants of summer still gracing her skin. When she fully turns toward me, I see her eyes are a bright green, rivaling any emerald or jade I’ve ever seen.

Then, just as quickly as our eyes meet, she looks back to the older man standing in front of me to take his order. “You want the usual today, Randy?” she asks him, in a honeyed voice. There’s a slight Southern drawl in her tone. The accent’s not overt. More like she grew up with it but is trying to smooth it out and sound more refined.

Randy replies something that amuses her, but I don’t hear what he says. It’s like everything has faded into the backgroundexcept for this woman. I keep staring at the way her eyes crinkle at the sides and her dark eyelashes flutter against her cheeks. And how she brings her hand up to her face while she laughs, as though her smile is a secret that only a select few gets to see.

And I know, without a doubt, I want to be one of the select few.

Her gem-colored gaze darts to me again, and when she catches me staring, she quickly schools her face and turns her attention back to the sandwich in front of her. I watch her closely enough to notice the tips of her ears have turned red. She may be embarrassed to have been caught looking at me, but I’m sure as hell not. I want her eyes on me. So, I keep my gaze trained on her, drinking in all of her expert sandwich-making movements and take note of every time her ears get a shade darker.

Oh yeah, this place was definitely a good choice for lunch.

As she wraps the sandwich in parchment paper, she peers up at the older gentleman. “Did you see the sign out front?” She hooks a thumb toward the door. “All sandwiches are free today, but only if you get chips and a drink.”

“Of course, I saw the sign! That’s why I came in today!” Randy slaps his leg like he just said the world’s funniest joke.

The sandwich goddess rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Randy, you come ineveryday. Free sandwich or not.”

“Well, I don’t think I came by on October 23rd,” he says seriously while squinting up at the ceiling.

“Then, we must’ve been closed that day.” She laughs and waves him to the register. “Come on, old man. Grab your salt and vinegar chips, so I can give you the discount.” She hands him a cup for his drink as he pulls a few bills from his wallet.

Her casualness with him makes me chuckle, but when the both of them throw me a suspicious look, I cover the sound with a cough.

Randy pays for his food, grabs his cup, and heads toward the soda fountain. “I’ll see you when I see you, Elle.” He lifts his sandwich in the air and gives her a smile.

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