Esmé stood in the grocery store, her fingers idly brushing over the apples and pears displayed in front of her. She wasn't in a hurry, but decisions—even small ones—had a way of holding her up longer than necessary.
A voice beside her broke her quiet deliberation.
"Apples are the better choice, you know."
She turned to find a man standing next to her, casually inspecting the fruit selection. There was an easy amusement in his tone, a confidence that made her raise an eyebrow.
"Is that so?" Esmé picked up an apple, studying it before setting it back down. Then, with the smallest hint of defiance, she grabbed a pear instead. "Guess I'll take this one, then."
The man laughed, a low, easy sound. "Well, now I feel personally rejected."
Esmé smiled, offering him a light thanks before heading toward the checkout. She wasn't expecting to see him again, but as she stepped into the line, there he was—appearing at the same register like an unintentional shadow.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully. "Are you following me?"
His grin was slow, teasing. "And if I said yes?"
Esmé let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Then I'd say you're pretty obvious about it."
"That's not necessarily a bad thing." He leaned slightly into the space between them, the confidence in his stance not entirely unwelcome. "So, since I'm already following you, how about your number?"
Esmé opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say anything, the cashier called her forward.
"Next."
She flashed the man an amused look before stepping up to pay, leaving him there to wonder if he'd get an answer at all.
Esmé stepped out into the cool evening air, her grocery bags nestled in the trunk of her car. The parking lot was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of carts and the hum of engines. As she reached for her keys, movement to her right caught her attention.
There he was again.
She watched as he casually unlocked the car parked directly next to hers, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Okay, now you have to be following me."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Or maybe I just have incredible luck."
Esmé tilted her head, considering him with amusement. "So, you think meeting me comes down to luck?"
He chuckled. "Or maybe it's just a wild coincidence. Either way, I'm not complaining." His gaze flickered toward her, warm and direct. "Now, about that number…"
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head at his persistence. And yet, instead of brushing him off, she gave him the number, watching as he quickly saved it into his phone.
Once finished, he leaned against his car with a satisfied grin. "I'm Noah, by the way."
Esmé snorted. "Noah? Wow. That's very… original." She made sure her sarcasm was just obvious enough.
He laughed, shaking his head. "And here I was thinking it had a certain charm."
She softened her grin. "Well, Noah—I'm Esmé Sinclair."
Something in his expression shifted at that, his smile deepening as he repeated her name like he was savoring it. "Esmé Sinclair," he echoed, voice dipping slightly. "That's… a beautiful name. Just like its owner."
She scoffed, shaking her head with amusement. "You're really committed to this whole flirty stranger act, huh?"
He grinned. "Hey, when fate—or luck—hands you a moment like this, you don't waste it."
As Esmé slid into her car, Noah flashed her a confident smile through the window.
"I'll call you sometime," he said casually before backing out of his parking spot.
She watched his taillights disappear onto the street, the easy charm lingering in her thoughts longer than she expected. There was something about him—something effortless in the way he carried himself, the way he flirted without hesitation. Curiosity stirred in her chest.
Before she could second-guess herself, she found her hands steady on the wheel, following at a comfortable distance. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—maybe just a glimpse into how he moved through life when no one was watching.
Noah navigated the streets with familiarity, taking smooth turns until he pulled into an apartment complex. Esmé lingered a little further down the street, scanning the area. The building was nice—not overly flashy, but refined. A place that suited someone uncomplicated.
She took in the quiet charm of the neighborhood, the neat trees lining the sidewalk, the warm glow spilling from windows. It was peaceful, lived-in, the kind of place that spoke to someone who liked a good balance—simple but comfortable.
Satisfied, she finally turned toward home, the sky painted in soft hues of deep orange and fading gold.
Back in her apartment, the evening settled around her as she moved through her usual rhythm. Groceries unpacked, dinner simmering on the stove—everything falling into the predictable cadence of her life.
Once her plate was ready, she sank onto the couch, turning on her favorite show.
A long-running sitcom, it was one of those comforting series—steady, familiar. A hardworking father, a warm and witty housewife, three lively kids who kept the home buzzing with energy. There was something deeply nostalgic about it, something reassuring in the way it played out.
As laughter echoed from the screen, Esmé let herself sink into the moment, her mind drifting between the steady comfort of her routine and the unexpected spark of the day's events.
The sitcom played on, filling Esmé's apartment with lighthearted laughter, the warmth of an idealized family. A husband who kissed his wife goodbye in the morning, children who ran through the house with joyful chaos. Everything neat, simple. Safe.
Esmé watched, a small, satisfied smile on her lips.
Her own childhood had been nothing like this. Her father—the towering, violent presence. Her mother—the sharp voice, the cold hand. Their version of "family" had been a cycle of control and cruelty, passing from one to the next until she and her brother had learned to survive in its shadows.
But that wasn't the life she would have. Not the life she would build.
She thought about Noah—about his easy grin, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence. Would he be the right fit? Would he make a good husband—a good father?
That was why she had needed to watch him, study him. She wasn't one to leave things to chance.
Weeks ago, she had seen him for the first time in the grocery store, casually picking up apples—like he always did. That brief moment had sparked something in her, something she couldn't ignore.
So she made sure to understand him.
Scrolling through his social media, piecing together fragments of his world. Calling in sick at work just to be nearby, lingering where she knew he would be. His lunch spot, his favorite walking route, the rhythm of his days.
And today—it hadn't been coincidence.
She had followed him to the store, parking next to him, placing herself exactly where she needed to be. The fruit aisle hadn't been random. The apples had been calculated.
And Noah had responded just as she had expected.
Esmé sank further into her couch, the glow of the television washing over her. The sitcom continued, the perfect family playing out on screen, their laughter soft and reassuring.
She smiled.
Because soon, she would have her perfect life.