The Milk Jug

By Alexandra Rago

Milk is used to accompany coffee, tea, and cereal. Arguably one of the most boring foods out there, sort of like Bel's life, monotonous and unchanging. However, something as simple as this dairy product, in a day of shopping, ends up being the common thread between her and Mr. Barba, an attractive man who helps her turn her existence around and what happens to her in bed ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexandra Rago
• Release date: Feb 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215609651

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Table of Contents

SYNOPSIS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

BONUS CHAPTER

The Milk Jug

Author: Alexandra Rago

© Copyright 2023–All Rights Reserved

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*Note: Please do not read if you are under the age of 18

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

SYNOPSIS

Milk is used to accompany coffee, tea, and cereal. Arguably one of the most boring foods out there, sort of like Bel's life, monotonous and unchanging. However, something as simple as this dairy product, in a day of shopping, ends up being the common thread between her and Mr. Barba, an attractive man who helps her turn her existence around and what happens to her in bed. ...

INTRODUCTION

Apathy consumed her. Bel, like many other people, insisted on ignoring herself in the mirror reflection. I used to be negligent and dodge his dull look that expressed an inescapable truth: he wasn't happy. Denial was much more comfortable than facing the fact that she had no idea how to save herself from a stifling monotony and a relationship that made her feel isolated.

Yet that night, as she expertly applied moisturizer to her face, she looked at herself as she had never given herself permission to see herself, and realized she didn't like the reflection in the mirror. Seconds later, she shook her head and dismissed the idea from her mind as a bad thought, to focus again on applying the cream.

He inhaled air and tried to be optimistic. He did that mental exercise, socially accepted, in which he remembered everything he owned and that others, on the other hand, longed for. He minimized his feelings, among them, the anguish that lodged in his chest.

For a moment, she thought about cheering herself up by putting on some perfume, then she remembered that Carlos had a sensitive nose, so she avoided him and went to bed, where he was writing something on the phone with a smile on his lips, that faded as soon as he saw her arrive.

Bel did not notice such a concealment gesture, because the state of reluctance that gripped her made her abstract from the reality that surrounded her. He went to bed, took a book from the night table and ignored the sound of the economic news that was heard in the background, rereading a paragraph to resume reading, without much success.

A few minutes later, she watched as her boyfriend turned off the television and the lamplight. Turning to her, he placed his arm across her belly and slid his hand under the sheet to caress her thighs on the material of her pajamas. He kissed her cheek gently, making Bel feel his erection against her hip. Then he took the book from her hands, stood up, and placed it on the table.

Bel looked up, meeting Carlos's honey-colored eyes, who looked excited. He looked at her for only a second before giving her an irrepressible and rough kiss that surprised her. He seemed too greedy, while she was still immersed in her musings. Even so, she felt incapable of refusing to be intimate, she didn't want to rebuff him.

As on other occasions, she closed her eyes, yearning to catch the desire and desire that seemed to be extinguishing in her. She kissed him, nibbling his full lips and mechanically did all the things she knew he liked to please him. He reminded her to use lube and told her to be gentle. Then, she hid her face between Carlos's shoulder and neck, to prevent him from noticing how she wrinkled it uncomfortably. He inhaled sharply, urging himself to relax. Soon it would be more dilated and there would be that pleasant sensation that invaded her when they had sex.

When she finished, she smiled at her handsome boyfriend who fell exhausted to the side of the bed. She went to the bathroom to clean up and avoided, once again, her own gaze in the mirror, the one that yelled at her to do something, that urged her not to continue living like this, but the fear of losing the good thing she had with Carlos, echoed again in his mind. Bel didn't understand that she had every right to make mistakes and live as she pleased.

CHAPTER 1

The blonde licked her lips. Without realizing it, she leaned over, revealing the pretty cleavage that framed the pair of generous breasts, over the display case where the bread was and breathed in the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.

Clemente strained his ears and observed the woman's throat, who subtly moved her lips forward, until finally parting them. She could almost feel her vocal cords working to perform that particular feat: moaning.

He was very attracted to female vocalizations, so he remained expectant to hear the sounds that the lady would make, however, after doing so, he wrinkled his nose and raised the left end of his lip, a gesture that denoted disapproval.

Clemente had a particular fascination with female moans. As a teenager, when he kissed a girl, he always paid special attention to the speed of her breathing, the intensity of her panting, and even the tone her voice took on when she got excited.

That pleasure took on greater significance, when he heard the neighbor across the street having sex. His mother had sent him to the aforementioned home, to deliver a letter that had arrived at their home by mistake. After ringing the bell a couple of times and receiving no response, he looked toward the parking lot where the woman's car was, an issue that convinced him of her presence.

She circled the house, walking toward the backyard, trying to catch a glimpse of him inside to notify him of the package, too thick to slip under the door. Such diligence was not due to fulfilling his mother's mandate, but rather out of personal motivation. That woman seemed precious to him, so he never missed an opportunity to see her.

He was surprised to find her against the kitchen wall, while the gardener on duty rammed her over and over again. Clemente was petrified by the impression generated by that scene that, up to that moment, he had only managed to observe a couple of times in a pornographic film in the company of his cousins. The few images of naked women that he knew of had come from some old magazines that his uncle kept jealously in his toolbox. So having witnessed that, in such a vivid way, was an event that marked a before and after in his life.

All human beings experience moments that configure them to be one way or another, many of them even go unnoticed without diminishing their significance. Moments that are burned into memory and that lead the individual to develop their life around them, even if they do not realize their vital importance or the great impact they will have on their existence. That was the case of Clemente, whose sexual worldview was irretrievably tied to that moment.

The erotic charge of the event had been so powerful that it gave him a sudden erection that shook the fabric of his pants. As much as he tried to get away from the place, he couldn't. It seemed that his feet were welded to the ground. Even without realizing it, he crumpled the paper that wrapped the package in an automatic reflex of helplessness.

It was like having sleep paralysis, only instead of experiencing frightening and horrifying visions, he appreciated the beauty of an unprecedented panorama. She, with her face contorted by pleasure, sweaty, with her legs crossed at the waist of that man who lashed out at her body non-stop, at a dizzying pace and that made her scream the most exquisite gasps. Beautiful moans that could only be the product of true joy.

Even as an adult, he was able to recall, without any effort, the exact shape of the woman's parted lips, as well as her beautiful eyes that, little by little, had managed to focus that outside, in the middle of the patio, was the neighbor's teenage son watching her.

The expression on the woman's face had changed, gone from arousal to horror in a split second. However, to Clemente's surprise, her features mutated again and she began to look lecherous when she was aware that he was watching her. Having an audience turned her on, which made her moan more.

It wasn't until she finished that he managed to snap out of the trance he was in and drag his hardened limbs out of there.

Upon arriving home, he lied to his mother, explaining that the neighbor was not there. He quickly climbed the stairs until he reached the room, bolted the lock to prevent his little sister from intruding and lowered his pants with trembling hands and then proceeded to relieve himself. It ended so quickly that her body ached, she even had a hard time breathing for a couple of seconds. Never in her life had she experienced such a powerful orgasm... Until the next day.

She went downstairs with the purpose of having a mid-afternoon snack and froze to find the neighbor chatting with her mother in a friendly way, with the package, which had not been delivered the day before, on her lap. She looked beautiful in an olive green dress that revealed a good portion of her crossed legs. Upon seeing him, the woman gave him a brilliant fake smile and gave him a surreptitious look as she raised the coffee cup to her lips.

—How big Clementito is! He expressed affable, putting the cup on the saucer.

That comment was seconded by his mother, who explained the wardrobe problems that her son had. He had grown so much in the last year that he had to renew all his pants, most of them were too short.

Clemente felt nervous, but after analyzing the situation, he found calm in the thought that the neighbor would in no way tell his mother about what had happened, it was not convenient for her. She was a married woman, while he was a simple boy who had caught her being unfaithful with the gardener. If anyone had anything to lose, it was her, so she finished down the stairs.

He greeted her kindly, then made his way to the kitchen with his heart beating fast. He opened the refrigerator and took out a very cold bottle of Coca Cola that he drank in one go, because he needed to calm his nerves and the agitation that overwhelmed him. After having made a sandwich, which he had devoured more out of anxiety than hunger, he took courage to face that woman again and go back up to his room.

Can you lend me Clementito for a moment? the neighbor asked naturally, seeing him enter the room. It's just that I need to get some things out of the closet, I lent the ladder to a relative and he hasn't returned it to me. In addition, they are very heavy, surely he manages to reach me. It is really very high.

Mrs. Fiorella looked at her son who did not make any gesture of disgust —because the poor thing was shocked—, so she assumed that there was no problem and granted the woman's wish. Since she was leaving, she took the opportunity to go look for Olivia, her youngest daughter, who was playing at a friend's house.

Clemente had no choice but to follow that woman to her house, meanwhile he was concocting all the possible scenarios that could unfold: Surely he will slap me across the face for being daring, he will insult me or beg me not to say anything.

None of these assumptions was met. She invited him to sit down and offered him a drink, which he grimly declined. The woman smiled at him as she raised the glass to rock it, which was made musical by the clinking of the ice cubes. She brought it to her lips and drank seductively, an action that caused her to leave a lipstick mark on the rock crystal.

Then he walked showing off an insinuating swagger, until he surrounded the chair where he was sitting. She caressed his shoulders in a supposed massage and whispered in his ear with feminine expertise that he felt very tense. Courageously, she exhaled her warm breath against the skin of his neck, which caused a chain reaction in Clemente's body, forcing him to cross his leg and hide his crotch with a cushion.

Come with me, I need help in my room, she said before leaving and leaving him alone in the room.

After managing to recover, he went in search of the neighbor. He found her sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, completely naked, wearing only a pair of light brown high-heeled shoes, which earlier she had combined with the olive green dress and at that moment, with her pricked nipples. The question was very simple. Clemente was a handsome teenager and from what she could tell from the bulge in his pants, well-endowed.

It was undoubtedly an atypical situation for her, since she had never thought that she would end up taking her friend's son to bed. She knew it was wrong, very wrong, but when she saw Clemente's appearance, a sixteen-year-old boy who looked like a real man, she calmed down the voice of her conscience that warned her that sleeping with a minor was typified. as crime.

It seemed more practical to her to deal with a young man, probably a virgin, that she could mold to suit her taste, than to have to seduce any man and beg him to be discreet. It made more sense to her to pay for the boy's silence with a good blow job and, in the process, get what she needed: sex, something that her too-old husband didn't give her very often.

She assured him that everything would be fine and of course it was. She was a patient lover, with a great willingness to teach him everything a young man like him needed to learn, or so it seemed at the time. In reality, she was a selfish and immoral woman who took advantage of her inexperience and innocence to satisfy herself.

Clemente never forgot the sensation of her soft hands opening his pants, nor did he forget seeing her lick him from top to bottom until she freely sucked the glans of his penis and moaned. That sound would haunt him forever, as would the sensation of her pussy fitting around his member, to show him what true pleasure was.

While Clemente's friends dedicated themselves to trying to relate to their classmates in search of a kiss, a hug, a touch or a sweet caress, he had already left that path far behind. Little by little it became the neighbor's favorite toy, one always at hand and with a lot of energy.

Without meaning to, she had a major impact on his behavior. In the course of almost a year, that the affair lasted , he had gone from being a restless boy at school; to be a placid and even a little taciturn one. There were only two things for him: sex with that woman and getting good grades so that his parents would have no excuses for not letting him go out. Everything else was inconsequential to him.

His life took a drastic turn due to the inequality of that clandestine relationship, in which he was subjected in the most subtle way, through sex. Being a teenager, he was unable to elucidate the negative impact of that relationship that made him face situations for which he was not ready and skip steps.

That woman meant an unprecedented transformation in Clemente. It wasn't until his parents decided to move out of town, ending their arrangement in the process, that he understood how much his life had changed.

At just seventeen, he was able to hold stimulating conversations with adult females in college without cutting himself off, without nervously stuttering, unlike the boys his age shared, whose palms sweated when they had to invite to date a girl

For Clemente, the target was adult women in their thirties and forties. He didn't care that they were twice his age. He had understood that the juicy, panting jackpot was to be found among self-assured, mature women with no reservations about verbalizing what they needed in bed, especially moaning without objection or shame. Not girls who knew nothing about sex and with whom it was more difficult for him to form casual relationships.

Not all sexual encounters were optimal. Clemente understood that he couldn't fully enjoy himself if the moans of his partner on duty weren't framed in the sounds that addicted him. It wasn't that he had some kind of classification for them, he just knew what turned him on. So he had to sharpen his sense of hearing, use clues to reach the long-awaited sound sooner, since when he found himself in bed with the lady, in the heat of the moment, he would never leave her halfway due to lack of good vocalization. .

There were several occasions when he was disconcerted when listening to women who seemed to be visiting the dentist, instead of in full sexual intercourse with him between their thighs. Their moans sounded like howls of pain, not pleasure, and no matter how much they claimed they enjoyed it, he couldn't quite feel at ease.

Something similar happened with overly high-pitched voices, whose moans were more like the shrieks of a rabid Chihuahua than those of an excited adult woman. He'd even been with one once who didn't make a sound of any kind, just a slight rapid breath, then yelled a number of meaningless insults at the moment of climax. They were beautiful women, capable of driving any man crazy, not him.

In order to avoid that kind of moments and make sure he spent an extraordinary night, he used tricks to get an idea of the sounds that said woman would make when he held her in his arms. The easiest way was through food, delicious chocolate, good wine, among many other options.

As it happened with the blonde who, when she smelled the cinnamon buns, emitted a gasp that sounded more like a dog toy squeal than a moderately exciting sound. So, no matter how pretty she was, just hearing that made him realize that he couldn't enjoy—at least not fully—a sexual encounter with her.

She then decided to get back to work, however her attention was redirected to the girl with the milk jug who had just walked into the store. Something about her disturbed him and attracted him in equal measure. It also caused him confusion, she was not the type of women with whom he used to associate. For some reason, he found it fascinating. The reasons were various and, curiously, every time I saw her, something new was added to the list of reasons.

That Friday was how a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead, while he walked through the store pensively, to the point of not noticing the presence of Dr. Larry, a single doctor who was the object of desire of all his employees, to which she had heard whispering, countless times, about how handsome they were.

The doctor also did not go unnoticed by the customers of the store, who used to look him up and down and even bump into him with feigned awkwardness, except for her. The girl with the milk jug didn't even pay attention to him when he stopped next to her to grab a yogurt from the dairy fridge.

What made her act differently from the rest of her peers present in the place? She wasn't wearing a ring, so she knew she wasn't married, though that wasn't a deterrent from looking at a handsome man. Nor had she given the impression that she was asexual or lesbian. There was no doubt that she was very curious, to the point of wondering what kind of introspections she would have to abstract herself from everything.

He followed her with his gaze until she went to the cash register, like every Friday or Saturday, depending on her dairy intake for the week. He watched her hold the two-litre milk can by the handle; during the period of time it took him to advance in line, until finally supporting him at the counter and paying. He supposed that he must live somewhere nearby, because he used to always go to the store by bicycle or on foot.

He was getting into the habit of going out to see her pedaling until she was lost in the distance in the traffic. He had never interacted with her, but every time he went to the store, he couldn't help but stare at her, not thinking about the fact that he was starting to feel attracted to a woman who was, without a doubt, the antithesis of him. all the partners he'd ever had, both monogamous and passing through. The most important detail, to observe in the aforementioned, was that she looked very young.

Clemente had never dated a woman younger than him. The appointments that he was compelled to attend with one of the daughters of his mother's friends to please her, did not count.

The thing was, he'd never had sex with a woman who wasn't at least five years older than him, and that girl was, in effect, several years younger than him. He couldn't say exactly how many, he hadn't trained for it. He learned as a boy that age was a touchy detail for the women he dated, so he chose not to get good at calculating birth years. He dared to guess that she was his junior by a little over half a decade.

Paradoxical question, if he analyzed that the last woman he had been with was a decade older than him. Was the time coming for the roles to be reversed? Would it then be his turn to play the role of the mature man? He chose not to dwell on it. He considered himself still very young, barely thirty-three years old, although in fact, he was the only bachelor of his friends —the few he had—, since the clandestine life of a boy who went out with women, who could well have brought him into the world, It led him to not cultivate many friendships.

Having to deal from a young age with the conflicts of women in middle age, made activities such as video games, drinking until late or going out to nightclubs to try to flirt with university students, meaningless.

Clemente was an unusual type, as was the girl with the milk can, and he was beginning to feel the urge to unravel the mystery. There were few times when he had bought something other than the milk supply, he never spoke to anyone or at least seemed to avoid it. He knew that she was not mute and that she was even very kind.

He remembered that on one occasion he had helped a lady, quite old, to get a drink for diabetics from the last section of the refrigerator, to later read her the nutritional table carefully and that he used to say thank you when he received the change. She would also gently deny when one of the guys from the delicatessen offered to try something.

She used to look as if she had just woken up, with her face washed, revealing a couple of freckles on her very pale-skinned cheeks, as well as exaggeratedly natural pink lips. Her hair was generally styled haphazardly, most of the time in a ponytail, other times loose with too much volume to shoulder length.

You could tell he didn't pay much attention to getting ready. She had that kind of natural and charming beauty. The curious thing was that you could see, at first glance, how much care she took: her nails were trimmed, with a layer of transparent lacquer, her skin was always beautiful, her hair shiny, and her excessively casual clothes looked clean, although, online generally possessed a scruffy appearance.

She was out of place with the elegant women, who wore high heels and expensive lingerie, that he was often with. Even her ex-partner, who was a bit of a hippie and bohemian, looked much more glamorous than that girl who probably bought her clothes at a children's store or supermarket.

Whenever he entered the store, he amused himself by looking at everything with a curious expression and almost never bought anything more than a jug of milk, then paid and left. That was his usual routine. He used to look at her from some vantage point, usually behind the display cabinets.

Clemente wondered what the interaction between them would be like if he decided to talk to him. That kind of musings were rare in him, he had a thrown personality, he didn't usually pay much attention to a plan in advance or a script for a possible conversation.

He realized that he had always flirted with older women who, in a great many cases, were quick to take an interest. There was the possibility that, with that girl who seemed so shy, things wouldn't turn out the same and for the first time in a long time, Clemente felt nervous about approaching a woman. Even so, she decided that the next time she visited the store, she would speak to the girl with the milk jug without further ado.

CHAPTER 2

Bel tossed and turned between the sheets, a cold sweat running down her back. She wasn't having a nightmare, at least not per se , she was actually dreaming about her ex-boyfriend. When she finally opened her eyes and abandoned that whirlwind of thoughts, she looked at Carlos sleeping serenely next to her.

He checked the time, it was six forty in the morning, the alarm clock on the nightstand would go off in twenty minutes. Bel always waited for her boyfriend to get ready and go to work to start the morning. That day, everything would be different.

She walked the floor, barefoot, the fibers of the soft carpet, near the window, tickling her feet. She closed the curtain and watched the street wake up, it would be a busy day for everyone, except for her. His boss had stopped consulting on Friday mornings, because he was taking master's classes, which left him free that period. He brushed his teeth and went downstairs to the kitchen.

Carlos didn't like to eat breakfast, he only drank coffee with milk, so Bel started making a pitcher. The scent of the tea, which her boyfriend made every day before he left for work, was what actually woke her up in the morning, so it wasn't until she caught that wonderful smell that her system would kick in.

She sat down on the soft sofa in the living room, drew the curtain a little and watched time go by, while she recalled the dream she had had. She had always liked to have very vivid dreams, she had experienced them since she was a child, she swore it was the way the unconscious spoke to her, something that was super fun sometimes, like when he gave her torrid adventures, other times, like that day, it annoyed her

Her mind recreated everything in a way that made her evoke memories that she herself didn't seem to understand or even remember. That morning's dream made her recall situations that were not relevant at all. Supposedly happy moments from the past that actually made him nauseous.

«Unconscious fool, let me sleep in peace, can't you give me a dream with a beautiful and precious actor? No, you have to ruin my morning with that jerk, he thought.

The dream itself, there had been nothing wrong. Bel looked at herself in a mirror, feeling several years younger and analyzed her outfit, which was unusual for what she used to wear. After downplaying that detail, she would go out into the street and walk a couple of meters to the garden of a nearby house, to deposit rubbish that wasn't really rubbish, rather it was a pile of things that she couldn't understand what they meant.

The days passed, until Bel went to do errands and daily errands, among those, to buy a can of milk. As he was walking back to his house, he realized that the garbage was still in the same place, so he bent down to pick it up, kneeling in the neighbors' beautiful garden to rummage through what seemed to be many envelopes.

She began to tear them apart, and little souvenirs spilled out: a bag of ketchup from a fast-food chain, movie tickets from an action movie, a withered flower, a butterfly pendant, a wine-stained napkin. Bel realized that those envelopes were full of memories of her relationship with her ex-boyfriend. By touching each one, he was able to recall the exact moment in which his memory collected data, saving what happened for posterity.

Like the time she had eaten French fries in the company of Minerva and that boy stopped by to say hello, so her friend introduced him to her; their first date in a theater with few shows, so they watched a terrible martial arts movie that she loathed and put up with because he liked it; the celebration of their first month together and the flower he had given her that night before they left for dinner. Each envelope was cursed, each one contained a memory of those days lived, in which Bel no longer thought and that the unconscious urged him to remember.

A mob of people approached, prompting her to flee. Bel, who did not understand what was happening, took the milk can and ran away, away from that disaster. She left behind the neighbors' garden and the envelopes filled with what, when she found herself awake, she realized were memories.

Suddenly an idea popped into his mind. What would those envelopes be full of if I ended up with Carlos? Was that what that dream was about? For some time she had begun to analyze what life would be like without him, not because she didn't want him, she was simply attacked by doubts. She wondered if that was it, if she loved him enough to live the rest of her life with him. They had been together since she was a little over twenty-two, and five years later, she wondered if that was the end of the road.

Was happiness perhaps bowling once every two months with a group of couples in an old bowling alley? Lunch two Sundays a month with his parents and two Saturdays with hers? Make love once or twice a week and have a drink together some Friday? Do the shopping for the house alone, because Carlos hated going with her to do that kind of chore, so they agreed instead that he would pick up the clothes at the dry cleaner?

A perfectly ordered life, in which Bel had made herself smaller so as not to bother her boyfriend, who seemed to get annoyed by everything. The personalities of both were not similar, although they were complementary. The detail was that Bel couldn't remember when was the last time they fought or when they did something new in bed.

Bel enjoyed imagining what it would be like to live alone again, to stop doing laundry until the laundry basket reached heights that defied gravity. Getting drunk on Fridays and waking up with smeared mascara on the carpet of a friend's apartment—if she had any, after what had happened with Minerva, she became very reserved. Going to those film festivals that she wanted so much, to watch soccer games at the stadium, to a noisy bar or any activity that Carlos didn't even try to do to please her.

It was a fantasy, a private pleasure, and above all, a guilty one. She didn't want to leave him, she loved him very much, she just found it fun to imagine herself free, without ties to do whatever she wanted.

Carlos came down the stairs of the house wearing a navy blue suit and a matching tie. His dark skin contrasted with the impeccable white of his shirt. She went to the kitchen, filled the thermal glass with coffee with milk and went to the sofa to place a kiss on Bel's forehead.

You woke up earlier this morning, she said as she took her coat from the rack, never taking her eyes off the phone.

Yes, I don't know why, she answered before realizing that he had never asked her the reason for such a strange event.

—I have to go to work, the milk has run out, can you go for more?

-Yeah.

Without further ado, Carlos walked out the door, started the car, and drove as he did every morning to the bank, where he worked as an assistant manager.

Bel put on some jeans , some old Converse, a T-shirt and a gray sweatshirt. He took an apple from the refrigerator and went to the nearby store. There he reviewed the showcases stocked with fresh bread, buns filled with fruit or nut jam, cookies, cakes, among others. She browsed through the baskets filled with pears, peaches, and apples. She wandered the aisles looking for something new to catch her eye, getting nothing, so she walked to the dairy area, grabbed a jug of milk, and headed for the register.

After lining up, he greeted the cashier who didn't answer him and just told Bel the amount to pay, which he thought was high. As he fished for money in his pocket, he thought that last week he had paid much cheaper for milk. He took out the bill and before handing it over to the cashier, he checked the label on the drum whose price was the same as the one he remembered, for which he ended up asking her the reason for the surcharge.

—It's the milk plus the apple.

Bel looked at the half-eaten fruit in her left hand and replied:

—No, I brought the apple from home. I went in eating it.

You cannot enter the premises with food from another place, the girl answered emphatically.

Where does it say it? Bel asked annoyed, but keeping her tone polite.

-At the door.

She read a sign that said that entering the premises with food or eating food was prohibited.

—It's absurd, you can eat products that have been bought here, but not outside?

I'm sure he took it from the apple basket, the cashier accused.

No, I haven't, she answered a little upset, at the woman's mistaken presumption.

The impatient cashier repeated the amount again, to force Bel to finish the business transaction. The other customers in line grew impatient, pressing her to pay for the fruit without her being intimidated. Seconds later, a tall man with a beard and tattoos on his arms appeared, who ordered the cashier, in a very serious and authoritative tone of voice, to charge only the milk can.

Bel paid, rejected the bag, and took the jerry can. As he was walking to the door, the man approached him to speak to him.

—Excuse the attitude of the cashier, on several occasions people have eaten food inside the premises and have said that they have entered with them to avoid paying for them.

And how do you know I wasn't one of them? Bel asked eagerly, with a haughty tone that he found very interesting.

—It's not the first time she's come here, I've seen her on several occasions. He likes to walk the aisles and many times he doesn't buy anything more than a jug of milk. Also, the apple it brings is too big, the ones I sell are organic, therefore they are smaller.

Bel looked at him puzzled after hearing such an exhaustive account of his buying habits, expressed with such affability. The man invited her to accompany him to the basket of apples and she followed him without further ado, since she still had not come out of her stupor. He handed her one and found that it was indeed much smaller than the one she was eating, despite being the same type.

—You should eat organic apples. The apple is one of the fruits most contaminated with pesticides and one of the ones that brings the most benefits to health, they are rich in fiber, vitamins, they lower cholesterol... It is worth paying a little more for them," explained the man with a very kind tone and a nice smile, which Bel found a little strange. He had all the bearing of a serious man. It seemed to him that such a sweet gesture did not suit him.

Maybe the next time I come over, he said as he handed the fruit to the man.

—No, it's a gift, sorry again for the incident in the box.

—No, excuse me for bringing food from home, thanks for the apple.

Bel smiled back at the intimidating man, though not in a negative way. It seemed to him that he emanated an energy that he did not know how to handle. Realizing that he intended to continue talking, Bel waved goodbye and turned to leave the establishment.

He walked home, his heartbeat a little faster than normal, thinking about that stranger. He seemed to have noticed her before, unlike Bel who had never seen him. He assumed that his job would have to do with store security or something like that, there would be no other reason for him to be aware of his buying behaviors. However, that assumption could not be supported, since he did not dress like the rest of the employees. She found the navy blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he was wearing quite cute, as well as the faded jeans and his handsome beard. He seemed like a very handsome man.

He urged himself to quickly get Mr. Beard out of his mind, a nickname with which he baptized him almost immediately. She kept walking home, where, after breakfast, she took it upon herself to do the laundry, vacuum, and do some cooking. At noon he had lunch, took a brief bath, got dressed, and rode his bicycle to work, which was several blocks away.

Upon entering the dental office, he greeted Luisa, the secretary, and the patients who were seated waiting. Her boss had several schedules for the afternoon, so Bel began to organize everything for such consultations. He searched for the files of the people mentioned, cleaned and arranged the instruments on the trays. He smoothed his uniform with his fingers as he looked at the clock, it would soon be two in the afternoon and work would begin.

After his boss's arrival, Bel, who was working as a dental assistant, helped him with a mouth infection, root canal treatment, wisdom tooth removal, dental cleanings and other procedures.

Around half past six in the evening, work was over and for some unknown reason, instead of cycling home, he kept going a little further, to the store. I only bought last minute products there, I used to make a big purchase every two weeks at the supermarket. It was unusual for him to go to that place, he had already acquired the milk and, to tell the truth, he did not need anything else. However, there he was, so when he got off the bike he picked up the phone and called Carlos.

—Hello, I wanted to know if you would like to eat something special tonight.

—Bel, I called you with my thoughts, I was going to call you to tell you not to wait for me for dinner.

-Because?

—It's the manager's birthday, the boys agreed to go eat or drink something, but only those from work go. —And with that last, she understood that she was not invited.

-MMM OK. I understand, have a good time.

"Ok honey, one kiss.

Bel was used to her boyfriend going out with his friends or going for a drink after work, a situation that was becoming more frequent. She was clear that trust was the cornerstone of any relationship and that if Carlos decided to be unfaithful, he would do it anyway, so she didn't waste too much energy thinking about it. What did bother her sometimes was that he was not kind enough to ask her if she had some kind of previous preparation for both of them, like on that occasion, when she was going to tell her to go to the last movie show.

He pushed the glass door and entered the premises. Since she would be dining alone, she didn't have to worry about cooking a menu that would appeal to both of them. It was barely seven and she knew she would be alone, at least four hours. She went to the refrigerators in the back in search of a boat of ice cream, total, that night she could eat it in front of the television to her heart's content, while she pretended that she had an acceptable social life and not one that revolved around her boyfriend's.

He walked over to a magazine rack and looked at some. Bel hated decoration, gossip, or tabloid political magazines. He was pleasantly surprised to find a copy of art and illustration. You didn't see that magazine much and it was hard to come by, so she smiled at the thought that it was her lucky day.

He went to the box while breaking the protective plastic of it to look at it while he waited in line. He looked around for Mr. Beard and was disappointed to find him nowhere, even though there was no reason to feel that way. She placed the can of ice cream and the magazine on the counter next to the cash register, to search her bag for her wallet to pay.

-I'm sorry. This magazine is not for sale," said the dour cashier.

Bel raised an annoyed eyebrow. She thought that the so-and-so girl had it in for her and decided that she would not tolerate her bad attitude.

-But why not? He was in the magazine rack.

Why not, miss. It was a mistake, this magazine shouldn't have been there, it's not for sale, he remarked with false kindness.

Bel insisted on asking why and the cashier was dismissive.

I want to speak to the manager, he requested and inhaled deeply, not wanting to lose patience. She didn't understand why the cashier treated her so badly.

Miss, it really was a mistake, I'm sorry, the girl emphasized, who, although she expressed an apology, the tone with which she spoke was too condescending.

"Please call the manager.

Bel saw the cashier signal to someone and told her that they would attend to her in a moment. He then ignored her and continued to bill the people behind her. Annoyed, she crossed her arms to wait for the manager. A lady made a move to approach the box, but was intercepted by that man, Mr. Barba, who apparently exercised some kind of authority in the place.

She lacked fluency for a moment and basically stuttered a bit. After two seconds, he quickly managed to compose himself and explained the matter. Mr. Beard nodded in understanding.

Bill the lady what she likes, he said, addressing the cashier.

-But...

Bill him, he interrupted impatiently, while still being friendly. Find something with the same price and do it.

The cashier reluctantly collected the two items, she was boisterous as she remarked the words to order with a click of her tongue , when she handed the shopping bag to Bel, who took it, replying thanks in the same tone. He headed towards the exit of the place, thinking that he would never shop there again, because he couldn't stand that girl.

Miss, may I have a moment to talk with you?

Bel turned at the call of Mr. Beard's deep voice and after nodding, followed the direction of his hand, towards an office at the end of the premises. Entering, he invited her to sit down, a request that she hesitantly accepted. Instead of sitting on the other side, in the chair that preceded the spacious desk, he sat next to her, turning the chair in her direction, too close a distance.

Would you like a date? He expressed kindly. He reached out his hand to reach for a transparent plastic container full of seedless Moroccan dates and after opening it, he put one in his mouth. She shook her head and he had no choice but to insist. Try one, they are very good.

-What are they? Bel asked, scrunching up her face.

You really don't know them? She shook her head again. The date is a fruit that grows on date palm trees, it is widely consumed in the Maghreb countries, it is very sweet...

—Maghreb? she interrupted curiously.

—Yes, North African countries. Bel nodded in understanding and lightly covered her lower lip with her upper one, a gesture he found most adorable. They are sweet, very good," he said, extending the small tray again.

She studied the fruits carefully and couldn't help but wrinkle her face again, thinking that their shape made them look like cockroaches. Still, he decided to give it a try and took one. The caramelized texture was a surprise, he watched Mr. Beard take another one whole into his mouth and chew, so he imitated the gesture. She was fascinated with the aroma and the delicious taste.

He watched her hungrily, waiting for her reaction. Her eyelids widened, revealing magnificent, expressive blue eyes, and she quickly brought her fingers to her lips to keep from making a sound. To Clemente, Bel found her too restrained and deep down he liked that.

-Hmm. The noise escaped the female lips. It wasn't a moan, at least not a guttural and natural one, it was more of a simple vocalization, which he found very pleasant, since she had a beautiful tone of voice. However, it was not what he was looking for. It's delicious. I've never tasted a fruit like this, thank you.

He offered her another date and she shyly refused. He insisted cordial, which convinced her to do it, but again, when she tasted it, it didn't give her what she wanted. Instead, he received a consolation prize. He loved the way Bel's lips turned up, giving him a short smile.

"I want to apologize on behalf of my employee. She's covering a colleague in the afternoon shift, I guess she's tired and couldn't explain herself. The incident is due to the fact that my ex-girlfriend is a plastic artist, she had a series of subscriptions to art magazines that I received here at the store. After taking them home, it is likely that this has been mixed with the magazines that are for sale. When Andrea told her that she couldn't bill it, it's because the product isn't in the system. —Bel took the till receipt to read the billed items and indeed, she had paid for an ice cream and a chocolate.

A thousand apologies, I can return it.

—Don't apologize, it's not your fault, I just wanted to explain so that this unfortunate situation or the one this morning doesn't make you stop preferring us as a place to buy.

Bel didn't know much about art, she only had a few editions of the magazine that she bought from time to time just to look at it, without any special purpose of study or anything like that. So he insisted that if they needed the item, he would have no problem returning it.

My ex-girlfriend left me over a year ago, it's about time I canceled the subscriptions, he said matter-of-factly.

I leave.

The thought echoed in Bel's mind, and she felt sorry for Mr. Beard. That affliction vanished quickly, leaving space free for the inescapable attraction that was beginning to take refuge inside her very comfortably to take center stage, to seize her inextricably.

She loved how honest he sounded, his masculine tone of voice, and how he spoke slowly, words coming out calmly. Also the shape of the dark almond-shaped eyes, the thick beard, the tattoos on his brown-skinned arms, the shirt ironed and rolled up to perfection. The height, the muscle tone, in fact, she thought she had never met such an attractive guy in her life. So she did what some women do, when they feel unable to handle the anxiety that comes from conversing with an outrageously handsome man: run away.

She stood up and felt suddenly hot. He, who was not ending the conversation, was surprised to see her get up. Bel said a quick good-bye, as she had done in the morning. He, who also stood up imitating her, held out his hand with the purpose of introducing himself, knowing her name and, hopefully, generating a bit of complicity between them.

She quickly shook it for mere formality and found her touch deliciously warm and scratchy, a matter that made her sigh as she felt mesmerized , without quite understanding why. She was far from the soft and delicate touch of her boyfriend. It was that seemingly nondescript touch that gave her a strange need to run into Carlos's arms.

He, on the other hand, loved that ephemeral sigh, as well as how soft her hand felt in his. He studied her as she took her bag from the desk, noting how she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, which he thought was a reflection of nervousness. He smiled with a certain insolence, he couldn't help but think that he still had the touch with women.

My name is Clemente, he said, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans .

Uh... I'm Bel, she answered hesitantly.

I hope to see you here again soon, Bel, he expressed using the familiar name.

Clemente gave her a suggestive look, crowned by a magnetic smile. She swallowed deeply, goosebumps all over her body when she heard him say her name. She nodded, feeling a little lost, completely out of place. When she felt his hand taking her elbow to stop her step, she felt herself tremble. Clemente opened the shopping bag for her and placed the dates inside.

-A gift. I hope you enjoy it.

She wanted to refuse, however, the need to leave that place became more pressing. She just nodded and self-conscious, she muttered the word thank you, and then headed out of the store. When the cold breeze from the beginning of the night hit her in the face, she realized how stale the air was in that office, everything smelled of him. He took a deep breath in order to get rid of the narcotic effect of that man's aroma.

Clemente came out a couple of seconds later and licked the natural caramel from the date from his thumb. He watched her leave through one of the store's glass walls. He noticed that he was pedaling quickly, and he wondered if he had been too bold during the conversation. He ruled out that possibility, just offered her a date and apologized for what had happened, besides, it seemed to him that despite her inherent shyness, she had been receptive. Perhaps he could not assert that with precision, what he was sure of was that the curiosity he felt regarding that woman was increasing.

He had to add to the list of details that captivated him, the pretty name she had, as well as how introverted she was. Now that was new and different for him, accustomed to establishing relationships with more outgoing women.

Walking through the store, she passed the dairy area and thought she hoped Bel's milk jug would run out much earlier that week, so she could see her soon.

CHAPTER 3

Bel left the bike in the house's garage, took off her jacket, put the ice cream in the fridge, and hurried up the stairs. He took off his uniform, his rest shoes and began to get dressed.

She called her boyfriend, but he didn't answer, anyway, he knew which bars he used to go to, so he took a taxi to that area. After going around a couple of times, he didn't see Carlos' car anywhere and ordered the taxi driver to go a couple of streets up.

That was the advantage of living in such a small city, it had a modest gastronomic block where the restaurants seemed to surround the same perimeter, whose center was a large square in which a beautiful obelisk stood and was adorned by a variety of trees of different sizes, which were usually used as a refuge by kissing teenagers .

It didn't take long for him to spot the car in a small Italian restaurant. He walked around the premises, whose windows allowed him to see the diners who devoured the different dishes. She caught a glimpse of her boyfriend eating at a table—just as he had told her—with the manager, her husband, and other bank employees who also seemed accompanied.

Bel was going with the intention of kidnapping her boyfriend for the first time and with a bit of luck, doing something different, then she would let him go free with his friends as always, so seeing him surrounded by other people amazed her, she thought it was something purely work. Still, he went ahead with his plan, picking up the phone to let her know he was out, instead of showing up at the table unannounced.

He watched Carlos carefully, who looked at the screen of his phone and simply diverted the call with a look of fatigue on his face. Bel felt a caustic pang in her chest, he had so easily ignored it. Stunned, she remarked feeling sad, sorrowful and also very upset. He sighed in disgust, apologized to those present and left the premises to take the call.

Honey, is something wrong? I didn't hear the phone. He excused himself by lying.

"No, nothing, everything is fine.

What's wrong, darling? Tell me, he said worriedly, noticing his girlfriend's sad tone.

-You love Me?

It was the only thing that occurred to her to ask at a moment like this, when she didn't understand her boyfriend's attitude.

—Of course I love you, I love you, you are the woman of my dreams, you already know that. Are you watching one of those romantic movies that makes you cry and think nonsense? Carlos' condescending tone made her even more angry.

—No, I'm looking at a horrible one, a very ugly one.

Change the channel.

-Can't.

Did you reset the remote again? he asked listlessly.

Bel walked to the restaurant entrance to face him. Carlos was stunned to see her and wondered what she was doing there. He looked at her disconcerted when he noticed her afflicted, he was not aware that she had witnessed the gesture of boredom and indifference that she used to make from time to time, when she called him.

Honey, what's wrong?

—I saw you, that happens and you know what, don't worry,