@kingdonmicrofic day 2: champagne (496/158 words) pre-affair ramble inspired by the heatwave and peach season

He spots her in the produce section, inspecting the peaches. Feeling light-headed, Frank watches her pick through the basket, turning the fruit around in her little hands, looking flushed and pretty. There is nothing remarkable about her purple running shorts and faded University of Michigan t-shirt, but he finds it completely delicious, a sordid vision popping into his head very suddenly, that of biting into her bare and freckled thigh like a particularly juicy peach, making her squeal. 

The sight is too good not to bask in, unnoticed behind a display of sweet potatoes, for just a little longer. It’s hot as hell outside, pushing 100 degrees, and just the walk from his car to the inside of the Trader Joe’s had Frank sweating through his clothes. He wonders how Mel is faring in the heat. He wants to lick the back of her neck. 

“Oh!” Mel pulls her headphones down as Frank drifts into her line of vision, waving. “Hi, Dr. Langdon!” She is almost too bright to look at directly, frizzy baby hairs and a tantalizing sheen of sweat on her forehead. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” It takes a great deal of effort not to wrap her up in a hug – they have done this a few times, a self-indulgent habit for both of them when adrenaline is high at work. Frank resists, this time, as touching her outside of the hospital feels like it would cross the line he’s been carefully toeing for the past two months. 

“Do you live close by?” A peach is still cupped in one of her palms as she small-talks, looking large around her dainty fingers. 

“Uh, yeah, like 20 minutes. I needed a drive, the dog plus the kids in this heat…” he trails off. “You?” 

“About the same distance. Are you celebrating something?” Her eyes have flickered to the bottle of champagne that is sweating in his grip. A peace offering to his wife, with whom he had bickered until the small hours of the morning. She loves the TJ’s stuff, pairs it with their overpriced cheese.

“For Abs,” he tucks the bottle under his arm. He could say more, some lighthearted joke about being a stay-at-home mom in the summer, but he doesn’t want to talk to Mel about Abby. She gives him a little smile, almost encouraging, like she approves of this selfless gesture towards the woman he must love so dearly. 

“She’s pretty lucky to have you.” 

“...I don’t know about that.” It’s a strange response, spoken before he can help himself, and both of them register this, blinking at each other over the peaches. Before she can reply, Frank is straightening and creating distance between them. “I’ll uh-” it’s painful to tear his gaze away from her, sunburnt nose the same shade as the fruit in her hands. “I’ll see you at work, Mel.”