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Meg lived in a middle sized city, it wasn’t big enough to be that interesting and it wasn’t small enough to make her desperate to get out. She worked at a middle sized grocery store that specialized in health foods. It was the kind that got different faces coming and going fairly regularly, but also had plenty of regular faces that kept coming back. Most things in her life seemed to be stuck in the middle. Not really exciting. Not really bad enough to make her need to change. She just kind of, existed.
One of her favorite past times was making up stories about the regular customers that kept popping up. She’d worked at the Mustard Seed Market for going on four years now after high school. Some people she’d recognized from the first few months on the job, others had popped up months ago and kept popping in.
The regulars usually kept to a regular schedule, same hours of the day, same handful of days of the week. They bought the same sort of things. Wore the same sort of clothes. Used the same canvas tote bags. Maybe everyone else was stuck too.
Ruby and Lilith loved to gossip about the regulars on their breaks with Meg. There was the gaggle of middle aged women in yoga pants that fussed over vitamin supplements. The young guy with dreadlocks down his back and studs in his lip that they all wanted to help find anything on the shelves, or in the back room, or in the bathroom. Anywhere, really. The sweet old grandma that kept coming back and asking what sort of healthy vegan food she could find for her granddaughter.
Then there was trench coat guy. He’d been coming to the market every two weeks since Meg had started. Same trench coat every time, usually a blue tie with his suit underneath. Hair mussed up, a scowl on his face. Every time that he came he bought salmon, fresh vegetables, and soy milk. Every few trips he would buy raw honey. Sometimes she caught him checking out with other little things.
Every now and then Meg would catch him in the store and she’d stand with Ruby at the end of the aisle making up a conversation between him and whatever jar of product he was mumbling at. The guy mumbled a lot. He probably didn’t notice he did it. It was kind of weird though, the whole talking to melons thing. He was quiet when you talked to him, like he could say whatever he wanted to a saran wrapped fish but not to the girl that stocked them. He had an intense stare though.
The stock girls made up stories about him in the back room. He came every two weeks. His trench coat never changed. They all continued to exist.
One day, Meg caught him down the health and beauty aisle. The store sold a lot of cosmetic products that were not tested on animals, made of organic ingredients, etc etc. Trench coat was standing there mumbling at two different boxes in his hand. They were for hair dye, one had a smiling girl on the front and the other had a smoldering man. Trench coat guy was standing there for at least ten minutes before Meg stepped forward to help him, even though she’d doubt that he’d talk to her.
“Hey, you need help finding something?”
He was still staring at the boxes in his hand, mumbling a little, like maybe he hadn’t caught on that he was having a conversation with a person.
“I don’t understand, why do they have hair dye for men and hair dye for women, is the constitution of our hair fundamentally different?”
“I’m sorry, run that by me again?”
Trench coat guy looked up, blue eyes wide and his mouth opened in a little ‘o’.
“I’m, sorry, I hadn’t realized you were there. “
He coughed and shuffled nervously.
“That’s fine. Hey, I’ve dyed hair before, I could help you pick something out. Is this for a …. girl friend, or daughter or something?”
“No, it’s for me.”
He’d gone back to staring at his boxes. Meg stared at his hair. There were a few wisps of gray swooping out from his temples but for the most part his tousled thick hair was pretty dark.
“You’re kidding me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You’ve got like, one or two strands of gray. You don’t need to dye your hair.”
He looked up and squinted at her.
“I’m forty years old. I live alone in a studio apartment with a cat. I’m single, and I’m graying. I feel as though… as though I’ve been stagnant for years, I don’t move, I don’t do anything interesting. Isn’t this what a mid life crisis is supposed to be? Dye your hair, buy a fancy car, that sort of thing?”
Meg stood there blinking at him. She hadn’t expected that little tirade. Or all those, details, which strangely just kind of made him more interesting. She shrugged, trying for casual, but standing this close to him she had to listen to the deep rumble of his voice when he actually talked, and god she could smell his aftershave.
“A little bit of gray looks distinguished, a lot of girls like a mature guy.”
He tilted his head at her, leaning a little closer. Then he blinked, looking back down to the boxes.
“I still don’t understand why there’s dye for men and dye for women.”
“A lot of guys wouldn’t have the balls to buy a box of hair dye with a woman on it.”
“Why not?”
Meg sighed and took both boxes from his hands, placing them back on the shelf and picking out a different one, one that had a woman on the box.
“Here, this is my favorite brand, the color really sticks and the smell isn’t too obnoxious.”
He took the box from her, unquestioning.
“Thank you.”
“I still think you should leave your hair like it is.”
She couldn’t be too sure, but Meg thought she saw him fighting a smile.
“You do?”
“Oh yeah. In a few years you’ll have the silver fox thing down.”
“What’s a silver fox?”
“An older guy with graying hair. But it’s a good thing. Like saying a woman is a cougar.”
“I don’t understand these analogies to wild animals.”
Ok, so he was clueless, going through a mid life crisis, probably hadn’t gotten laid in a while, and was smoking fucking hot. Meg pulled a pen out of her little store apron and a scrap of receipt, scrawling her name and number on the back of it and holding it out to him.
“Look, I’ve gotta get back to work, but if you’re really curious I could explain it to you better later, maybe over drinks?”
He looked at the little slip of glossy paper, his cheeks a sudden tinge of pink and his tongue darting out in the corner of his lips as he scrunched his eyes up. His hand darted out to take the paper, and quickly stuff it in a pocket.
“I - that …. um that’s a very nice offer. But. I’m sorry, how old are you?”
“Twenty two.”
“Oh. Uh, don’t you think I’m a little old for you?”
“I’m not talking about marriage and kids here.”
He looked down at his feet, shuffled back and forth.
“What’s your name?”
Those big blue eyes fixed on her again.
“Castiel.”
“Why don’t you put the hair dye down, call me later - I’m off shift at seven - and, we can see what happens.”
He put the box of dye back on the shelf. Meg smiled, tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, stepped a little closer into his space. He nodded, swallowing with an audible click.
“I can do that.”
She winked, and reached out to squeeze his upper arm - hello muscle - before saying, “You know, midlife crisis are supposed to involve flings with women half your age too, right?”, before turning and sauntering down the aisle with extra sway in her hips.