The supermarket was quiet for a Saturday morning, just the hum of fluorescent lights and the low murmur of soft rock playing in the background. Kindall strolled leisurely through the produce section, a basket hanging over her arm. She picked up a peach, turning it in her hand with practiced attention.
Soft, fragrant, just ripe enough. She smiled, placing it gently into the basket with the others.
Across the store—half-hidden behind a display of oranges—Joe stood frozen. He hadn’t planned this. Not consciously, anyway. He’d told himself he was only picking up a six-pack and some detergent. But the moment he saw her, that plan evaporated. He'd spent the last two months avoiding her. But now, she was right in front of him.
Kindall's blouse was thin and flowy, but underneath it... he saw how the snug cami clung to her, revealing her beautiful curves. When the light hit her just right, he could see the outline of her body, from her breasts to her hips.
She moved with quiet confidence, as if unaware of the storm she was stirring in him.
He followed at a distance, cart abandoned. Kindall made her way down the frozen foods aisle, her hips swaying with that same hypnotic rhythm he remembered from her driveway. She opened the freezer door, leaned in slightly, and grabbed a package of frozen pie crusts.
Joe swallowed, wiped his palms on his jeans, and walked down the aisle behind her.
“Kindall,” he said, his voice rougher than he expected.
She turned slowly, the freezer door still open. And there they were, pointing directly at him. Like two darts aimed at their target. There was no way he could miss them. The stretchy fabric of her cami, coupled with the frozen air- and lack of bra- had made her nipples harder than ice cubes. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, wisps of gold falling around her neck. Her lips slightly parted, showing surprise.
“Joe,” she said, voice smooth. “Fancy seeing you here.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Just… needed a few things.”
She glanced at his empty hands, then back to his face with a knowing look.
“Right.”
Joe’s heart pounded. He felt reckless. Like a man standing too close to the edge of something he’d spent months trying to resist. “You making something?” he asked, eyeing the pie crusts.
“Peach pie,” she said. “My mother’s recipe. Crumb topping. It’s out of this world.”
“Sounds amazing,” he said. And then before he could stop himself, “You ever need a taste-tester…”
She laughed, a soft, sultry sound. “Are you volunteering?”
Joe’s breath caught. “I guess I am.”
Their eyes locked. Not long. Not enough to be scandalous. But enough that Joe felt he crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
Kindall looked away first, smiling as she shut the freezer door with her hip. “Well then,” she said, walking past him slowly, “I’ll save you a taste.”
Joe stood there, frozen like the aisle around him. Watching her walk away, basket swinging by her side, hips moving like a pendulum set to his undoing.
He didn’t move until she turned the corner, out of sight. Then—finally—he exhaled.
. . . . . .
Later that evening, Kindall pulled the peach pie from the oven, the scent of bubbling fruit and brown sugar filling her kitchen. She placed it on the stovetop to cool and leaned against the counter, sipping wine as Milo lay curled up by the door.
Her mind drifted. To Joe’s eyes. To his voice, rough and hungry. And to Steven’s quiet restraint. Two very different men.
She felt something shift inside her. Not guilt. Not shame.
Sexual energy.
. . . . . .
The peach pie was finally cool enough to slice. Kindall had wrapped up a piece for Joe in a small to-go container, planning to leave it on his doorstep like some kind of peace offering… or boundary-keeper. But before she could grab her keys, a knock sounded at the door.
Joe. He stood there with an easy grin, hands in his jean pockets. “Hey,” he said. “Smells like heaven in there.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Didn’t expect you.”
He glanced down at his feet, then back up. “Didn’t expect to come. Just… couldn’t stop thinking about that pie.”
She opened the door wider. “Well, come in. You’ve got good timing.”
A few minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the clinking of forks until only crumbs were left on their plates.
Joe, Kindall realized, was quite a talker. He was good at keeping the conversation alive, even as she became distracted with the dishes at the sink.
Joe leaned casually on the counter, watching her. “You’ve got a dangerous set of talents, you know that?”
She didn’t turn around. “Like baking?”
“Like knowing exactly when to give someone just enough.”
Her hands stilled in the suds, the last of the pie cooling beside her.
He stepped closer and picked up a dollop of peach filling with his finger. Then, quietly, he held it in front of her lips. “Let me return the favor.”
She turned slightly, eyes moving from his finger to his face. Then, slowly, she leaned in… and took his finger into her mouth.
In those moments, time stood still. The air in the kitchen shifted—heavier now, humming with tension. Joe’s breath moaned. “Kindall…”
His hand found her hip, a barely-there touch. Subtle, but electric. Then he leaned in, his mouth grazing her shoulder as he whispered, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this.”
As his hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, she grabbed his wrist.
“Joe…” Her voice wasn’t angry. It was breathy, conflicted. But firm.
He looked at her, searching.
“No,” she said, stepping back. "I don't think it's a good idea."
His mouth opened, then shut. The spell broke. “I should go,” he muttered.
. . . . . .
Joe walked home in a blur. His chest heaved. His hands shook. He ripped off his clothes the moment he stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. The water hit him hard. He couldn’t stop the images in his head.
Her mouth, her skin, the feel of her breath against his ear. The way she had eaten the pie filling from his fingertip. The way his finger had felt inside her, so warm and pulsating.
His hand braced against the wall as his breath grew louder, heavier—ragged.
“Joe?” a voice called from outside the door. His wife. Knocking softly. “Are you okay?”
He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “Yeah. Just… long day.”
Joe knew she probably wasn't oblivious to what he was doing. He clenched his jaw, anger rising beneath his frustration. How long had it been like this? Him, taking care of himself while she moved through their days unphased by the fact he was a man. A man with needs. Content with leaving him untouched. When had she become so detached from her own body… from his? And why was she so okay with him taking care of himself?