The pharmacist asked if I were there to pick up Mom’s prescription. I’d never noticed the small dimples in his cheeks when he smiled.
I nodded.
I really liked the straightness of his teeth and his warm brown eyes. He seemed content with his job.
“There you go.” He handed me the tiny bag with Mom’s scrip stapled to its top. “Hope she gets better soon.”
“Thank you.”
When I biked home, I didn’t think about him at all.
But the more Dad began to go crazy with his drinking, the more I noticed how kind the pharmacist was. He always asked after Mom’s health each time I showed up. He never tried to make a lot of conversation. I didn’t mind that. I was confused because I didn’t know that kindness could make a man sexy. In a way I was sorry when the pollen season ended. I had no excuse to go in
