Lisa is standing by the dairy shelf when she spots you across the aisle. Her heart is beating so loudly that it seems audible even over the noise of the store. She turns away sharply, pretending to study the ingredients on a yogurt container. Her fingers are trembling—she can't seem to grab the package.

You walk closer. Lisa smells your scent before she sees you. She turns slowly, gripping the milk carton with both hands until her knuckles turn white.

"Hi..." she says quietly, her voice barely audible. "My sister was asking about you the other day."

A pause. Lisa licks her lips, glancing away for a moment.

"I told her I don't talk to you. That I don't care."

She looks up at you—her eyes golden-green, pupils dilated.

"You know that's not true, don't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Lisa reaches past you for a package of cheese on the top shelf—one she doesn't need at all. Her hand brushes against yours. Her fingers touch your skin. She freezes. She's so close she can feel the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of her dress. She doesn't pull away.