Chapter Three – The Almost Question

Lily

Wednesdays are my busiest days.

I have classes in the morning, work in the afternoon, and then a group project meeting in the evening that I'm already dreading. I don't know why professors love forcing strangers into groups, but I do know that whoever decided that three people should share one Google Doc should be banned from making academic decisions.

By the time I get to work, my brain is already fried.

"Morning, sunshine," Mark greets when I walk into the employee break room.

Mark has worked at the supermarket for years, long enough that he's basically unbothered by anything. He's the kind of guy who always has a joke ready, even when nobody's asking for one. Right now, he's balancing a bag of chips on his knee while scrolling through his phone.

"Morning," I mumble, throwing my bag into my locker.

Mark eyes me. "That bad?"

"Just tired." I grab my apron, tying it around my waist. "College is a scam."

He snorts. "You're just figuring that out now?"

"No, but it's hitting harder today."

"Need me to cover for you while you take a nap in the cereal aisle?"

"Tempting."

I grab a water bottle from my locker before heading out to the front. The store is moderately busy—not too chaotic, but enough that I don't get a second to breathe once I start scanning.

It's the usual routine. Scan, bag, smile.

And then, at 4:15, the chime above the door rings.

I know who it is before I even look up.

Ethan.

Or, as Rachel still insists on calling him, Cherry Lollipop Guy.

It's been almost a month since I first noticed him, and by now, I've accepted that this is just part of my day. Like the beeping of the register, or the smell of cheap coffee from the employee break room.

He's part of the routine now.

But today, something is different.

I don't realize it until he reaches my register and sets his lollipop down like always.

It's not cherry.

I blink. "Strawberry?"

He slides a dollar across the counter. "Is that a problem?"

I pick up the lollipop, holding it between my fingers like it's a foreign object. "You always get cherry."

"Maybe I wanted to try something new."

I narrow my eyes. "You didn't just grab it by accident?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "No."

I hesitate, glancing between him and the candy.

For weeks, I've been convinced that the lollipop is just an excuse for him to be here. But now, faced with something different, I feel strangely thrown off.

Like I was expecting one thing, and now I don't know what to do with this new piece of information.

I scan the lollipop and hand him his change. "So, what, is cherry dead to you now?"

He tucks the lollipop into his pocket. "Guess we'll find out."

Before I can say anything else, the guy behind him in line coughs loudly, making it clear that our conversation is holding up the transaction. I press my lips together, moving on to the next customer as Ethan steps away.

I should let it go.

But I don't.

Instead, I watch as he leaves, my mind running in circles over something that shouldn't even matter.

It's just a lollipop.

Right?

~~~~

By the time my shift ends, my brain is still half-stuck on that moment.

I head to campus for my group project, where we spend an hour debating whether we should split up the work equally or let Jason—the only one who actually cares about our grade—do most of it. It's an unspoken rule in every group project: there's always one person who ends up doing everything, and unfortunately for Jason, he nominated himself the second he showed up with color-coded notes.

I try to focus, but my thoughts keep drifting back to work.

It's so dumb. It's just a lollipop. A tiny, insignificant detail in the grand scheme of things.

But still, I can't shake the feeling that it means something.

Which is stupid, because what could it possibly mean?

When we finally wrap up, I text Rachel to see if she wants to grab dinner, but she's stuck at the library cramming for an exam. So I grab a sandwich from the campus café and head home, already looking forward to collapsing onto the couch and doing absolutely nothing.

But fate has other plans.

I'm a block away from my apartment when I see him.

Ethan.

He's leaning against the railing outside a small coffee shop, earbuds in, scrolling through his phone. He doesn't see me at first, and for a second, I consider just walking past. It's late, and the last thing I want is to make this weird.

But then he glances up.

And just like that, I have no choice.

I slow down, stopping a few feet away. "So? Was it any good?"

He pulls out one earbud. "What?"

"The lollipop." I cross my arms. "Did strawberry live up to your impossibly high standards?"

Something flickers in his expression, like he wasn't expecting me to bring it up. But then he smirks, tilting his head slightly. "It was fine."

I groan. "Not this again."

He chuckles. "What?"

"You can't just say everything is 'fine.' That's such a non-answer."

"Maybe I like being mysterious."

I scoff. "There's a difference between being mysterious and being difficult."

"Am I being difficult?"

"Yes."

He hums, considering this. "Okay, fine. It was... decent."

I narrow my eyes. "Decent?"

"Yeah. Not bad. But not cherry."

I fight back a victorious smile. "So you admit it. Cherry is superior."

He exhales like he's reluctant to agree. "Maybe."

I grin. "I knew it."

For a second, we just stand there. The night is quiet, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of passing cars and the occasional burst of laughter from the coffee shop behind him.

I should leave. I should say goodnight and walk away.

But instead, I shift my weight, glancing at him.

"So why'd you get strawberry?" I ask.

He doesn't answer right away. Just studies me for a moment, like he's debating something.

Then he shrugs. "Felt like changing things up."

I frown. "But you never do."

He lifts a brow. "You been keeping track of my purchases?"

My face heats. "You make it hard not to."

He laughs, but there's something softer in his expression now. Something that makes my stomach twist in a way I don't entirely understand.

And suddenly, I want to ask something else.

Something bigger than a lollipop.

Like—why do you always come to my register? Or—how long are you planning on keeping up this routine? Or maybe even—what's your actual reason for showing up every day?