Chapter Two – Just Another Tuesday

Lily

Tuesdays are weird.

They're not chaotic like Mondays, when everyone's still adjusting to the week. They're not like Fridays either, when people are mentally checked out, stocking up on snacks and cheap wine for the weekend.

Tuesdays just exist. A placeholder between the days that actually mean something.

Which is exactly how I feel standing behind my register, rubbing at my temple as the fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead.

It's been a long day. Longer than usual.

My morning started with an 8 AM lecture on American literature, which would've been fine if I'd actually read the assigned chapter. But between working late last night and cramming for an upcoming quiz, I didn't have time. So instead, I spent the entire class trying to act interested while Professor Martinez went on about unreliable narrators.

Then there was my shift.

It's been one of those days where everything takes twice the effort it should. My register jammed first thing in the afternoon, I had to clean up a shattered pickle jar in Aisle Three, and I got stuck listening to a woman rant about how the store "never has the right kind of almond milk" for what felt like an eternity.

So yeah. I'm tired.

But at 4:15, I hear the chime above the door.

And, as much as I tell myself not to, I glance up.

Cherry Lollipop Guy.

It's ridiculous how quickly I recognize him now. The way he always shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. The way he takes his time walking in, like he's in no rush.

It's been weeks since he first started showing up, and at this point, I don't know what's weirder—the fact that he comes in every single day for the same thing, or the fact that I actually look forward to it.

I keep my expression neutral as he heads straight to the candy aisle.

A few minutes later, he's standing in front of me, placing a single cherry lollipop on the counter like always.

I don't say anything as I scan it. Just tilt my head slightly and ask, "Do you even like cherry?"

For the first time, he hesitates.

It's brief—just half a second, maybe less—but I catch it.

Then he shrugs. "It's fine."

I narrow my eyes, handing him his change. "That's not a real answer."

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. "It's not a bad one, either."

I huff, shaking my head. "So you don't like it."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't deny it."

He gives me a look like he's amused but also not planning on giving me anything more. And just like that, the conversation is over. He tucks the lollipop into his pocket, nods his usual goodbye, and heads for the door.

And, as always, he doesn't look back.

~~~~

After my shift, I take the bus home.

It's a little past six, and the ride is quiet—just a few other students, a man scrolling through his phone, and an older woman knitting something bright orange. I lean against the window, watching the city pass by, my mind drifting back to the conversation at work.

It's fine.

What kind of answer was that?

Because, honestly, if I were buying the same thing every single day, I'd have a stronger opinion about it. Either I'd love it, or I'd get sick of it.

But he doesn't seem sick of it.

Which means he either really loves cherry-flavored lollipops... or that's not the reason he keeps coming in.

The thought sticks with me longer than it should.

By the time I get home, my brain still feels like it's running in circles.

Rachel is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she eats cereal straight from the box.

"Hey," she greets, mouth half full. "How was work?"

I kick off my shoes, sighing. "Fine."

She watches me for a second, then smirks. "Cherry Lollipop Guy show up?"

I roll my eyes. "You need to stop calling him that."

"What, am I supposed to use his real name?"

I freeze for half a second too long.

Rachel gasps. "Oh my God. You know his name."

"I—" I cross my arms. "No, I don't."

But she sees right through me. "Lily."

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "Okay, fine. It's Ethan."

Rachel grins like she just won something. "Ethan. That's a good name."

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, trying to ignore her smug expression. "It's just a name."

"Sure." She pops another handful of cereal into her mouth. "And I bet he's just buying those lollipops because he loves cherry."

I don't respond.

Because, for some reason, I don't think that's true anymore.