Amanda and Trent had spent the better part of a year at each other’s throats. Amanda, with her long blonde hair and big black-framed glasses, often found herself arguing with Trent, a young muscular guy who never seemed to filter his thoughts. Amanda’s blue polo shirt — a size too small — hugged her petite figure, and her shy nature was constantly at odds with the way she felt compelled to push back against Trent’s relentless attitude.
If Amanda suggested a new display arrangement, Trent insisted the old one worked just fine. If Trent proposed switching bread suppliers, Amanda would march to the manager’s office to argue against it. Their co-workers knew better than to get involved, but that didn’t stop Olivia — the grocery store’s reigning chaos queen — from stirring the pot.
“Hey,” Olivia whispered to Amanda one afternoon, “I probably shouldn’t say this, but Trent told me he thinks you’re… kinda hot.”
Amanda blinked. “Trent? As in Trent Trent? The one who thinks stacking cans by color makes him a merchandising genius?”
“Yup.”
Meanwhile, Olivia approached Trent. “Hey,” she grinned, “Amanda kinda has a thing for you.”
“Amanda?” Trent scoffed. “The same Amanda who once called my stocking strategy ‘prehistoric’?”
“That’s the one,” Olivia said with a wink.
Suddenly, Amanda and Trent found themselves in uncharted territory.
Amanda started holding the breakroom door for Trent instead of letting it slam behind her. Trent began restocking the salad bar when Amanda forgot — which Amanda grudgingly thanked him for. These little moments of forced niceness felt awkward at first… but they noticed something weird. It wasn’t that bad.
“Nice apron,” Trent muttered one morning when Amanda walked in.
“Thanks,” Amanda said, barely hiding her surprise. “I… liked the way you reorganized the produce section.”
“Oh,” Trent stammered, “Uh… thanks.”
Weeks of increasingly flirty tension built up like steam in a kettle until one late evening in the store, the dam burst. Amanda had just finished loading some inventory in the back room when Trent walked in behind her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I think we’ve been… weird lately.”
“Yeah,” Amanda agreed. “Weird.”
“Maybe… not bad weird,” Trent added.
Amanda turned around, face inches from his. “Not bad at all.”
In the next moment, Trent’s lips were on hers. They stumbled back against a shelf of canned soup, knocking a few cans to the floor. The kiss turned desperate, hands fumbling, lips trailing down necks. Before long, they found themselves tangled together in the butcher’s freezer — bodies pressed close, steam rising in the cold air as they forgot entirely about grocery displays, suppliers, or even Olivia’s meddling.
The next morning, Olivia sipped her coffee smugly as Trent and Amanda stood side by side by the checkout lanes, sneaking shy smiles and exchanging whispers.
“I knew it,” Olivia muttered to herself with a grin. “Took ’em long enough.”