Skylar Jennings stood in front of the shelves of salad dressings like her entire future depended on the right vinaigrette. Her earbuds played mellow indie music as she squinted at the tiny labels, completely oblivious to the employee trying to get to the bottom shelf beside her.
"Excuse me," a voice said, not impatient, just amused.
She blinked and turned. A guy - her age, maybe a little older - stood behind a cart stacked with boxes labeled 'Stock - Condiments.' He wore the Lenny's Market green apron and a name tag that read Evan, slightly crooked like it had been slapped on in a hurry.
"Oh - sorry!" she said, scrambling sideways. "I was having a full existential crisis over salad dressing."
He grinned as he crouched down to open one of the boxes. "It's a high-stakes decision. Caesar's got bite, but balsamic's got heart."
Skylar smirked, pulling out her earbud. "Wow. You take your dressings seriously."
"I take everything seriously," he said solemnly, then added with a smirk, "especially mayonnaise placement."
Skylar laughed before she could stop herself. "Is that what I was blocking? Mayonnaise?"
"Yep. The people demand it."
She looked at the shelf, now partially stocked with jars. "Seems like important work."
"Extremely," he said, standing up and brushing off his hands. "Name's Evan, by the way. You're clearly a regular in aisle nine."
Skylar shifted her basket to her hip. "Skylar. And no, just sent here by my mom. I usually avoid condiment-based crises."
"Shame. You've got solid aisle presence."
She tilted her head. "Is that a compliment or a grocery store pickup line?"
"Little of both."
He smiled again, and something about it made her feel warm and kind of floaty, like the air conditioning had dialed up just for her.