Under the grey light of the moon, an Audi R8 prowls into the gas station like a huntsman on the hunt. The engine's purr fades into the stillness of the night as Derek eases the car to a stop beside the fuel pumps.

He steps out of the car, his black jacket breathing against his frame. The scent of gasoline suspends thick in the air as he unscrews the cap of the fuel tank. The nozzle slides smoothly into place, and he presses the trigger, the soft gurgle of petrol filling the silence.

As the tank is filling, his eyes are wandering to the convenience store on the edge of the station. He replaces the nozzle and closes the tank, the metallic click clicking faintly in the night.

He reaches out in the car, grabs his wallet and goes to the store, its neon light flickering against the black canvas of the night. He opens the glass door, the fluorescent lights cast a pale glow, illuminating the neatly arranged aisles and the lone figure of a suited 23-year-old young man of noiseless strength and solid resolve. The store appears quite empty, other than a young cashier stationed behind the counter, occupied herself with flipping through a GQ magazine, her attention drifting in the quiet calm of the night. He walks over to the counter after grabbing his items. As he approaches the counter, he momentarily looks over to the cashier's name tag, where a glaring typo rendered her name as "Ana." With a pleasant grin, he greets her.

"Hi there, Ana!" he exclaims, his voice carrying a hint of distraction.

Her smile remains steady, though a subtle twitch betrays her amusement. "Actually, it's, umm, Aria," she corrects gently, her tone warm and patient.

He's chuckles while gesturing to her chest, “Oh? Yeah but your name tag right there says Ana."

Aria's laughter bubbles forth, a melodic sound amidst the aisles of goods. "Yeah, we've had a bit of a mix-up with the name tags. I have been asking my boss to change that up for a week now. My name is Aria."

His slight embarrassment seems to dissipate as he joins in her laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Oh my bad then, Aria. My name is definitely Derek, by the way"

Efficiently, Aria continues to scan Derek's items, her movements smooth and unhurried. She waves off his apology with a dismissive gesture, her beautiful smile widening. "Ah no worries, Derek. My boss is a real piece of crap for having me wear this name tag spelled incorrectly. Your total comes to $19.70.”

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Derek reaches into his pocket and retrieves his wallet, Aria extends her hand keenly, palm upturned, ready to receive the payment.

However, in a moment of misinterpretation, his attention shifts from his wallet to Aria's outstretched hand. He reaches forward, his hand meeting Aria's in what he assumes is a handshake.

Aria's eyes widen in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly as she realizes the misunderstanding. Caught off guard, she hesitates for a fraction of a second before awkwardly attempting to transition her hand from a handshake position to one ready to receive payment.

Aria manages a nervous laugh, her cheeks now flushed a deeper shade of red. "Oh, uh, thank you! But actually, I was just... um, waiting for the payment."

Realization dawns on Derek's face as he quickly releases Aria's hand. "Oh! I'm sorry, I thought you were offering a handshake. Here's the payment."

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He hands her a credit card to make the purchase for the pack of American Spirit cigarette and the bar packs chocolate.

After the purchase, Aria hands Derek the receipt. “Look behind that receipt”, she says. He promptly flips the paper.

Derek, curious, flips the paper over. To his surprise, there is a handwritten note: "Is this what I think it is?" he asks.

Aria nods knowingly. "Yes it is what it appears to be, my number. Give me a call, ya? There is an exquisite opera show happening at TPAC's Andrew Jackson Hall. Join me." Aria’s voice carries a hint of confidence, her fingers tracing the barcode scanner as she awaits Derek's response. Derek's slightly brows crease in surprise, as he processes her unexpected question.

He hesitates, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. "Whoa. What makes you think I WOULD enjoy opera? And I do not mean to be rude at all, but is this what you usually do? Ask your customers out?" he quips.

With a smile, she leaned slightly closer across the counter. "Well, besides the fact that you strike me as a man of refined tastes," she begins, her voice low and conspiratorial, "when you pulled up to pump gas over there, it was hard not to notice Beethoven playing. Not many people in Nashville drive around at 11 pm on a Thursday with classical music blasting"

He chuckles, impressed by her observation. "Okay, first of all, that was not even that loud but fair point," he admitted. "But what if it was just a random playlist?"

She shrugs playfully. "Could be. Or maybe you've got a secret passion for the dramatic. Ever been to the opera?"

"No, I haven’t had the pleasure of attending an opera before," he admits with a smile, intrigued by her persistence. "But you still haven't clarified the randomness of your sudden invitation, ma’am."

"Well, sir, I happened to win two tickets last week, and I simply cannot let such a rare and invaluable opportunity go to waste," she explains, her voice carrying excitement. "Join me"

"First of all, a ticket is definitely valuable, and secondly I do appreciate the gesture and the enthusiasm," he replied thoughtfully. "But honestly..."

"...uh,...Continue Reading