A ring from the store's bell signaled his entrance, and the sickening scent of sugar overwhelmed the young man. The place of business was a charming bakery. White trim accented the tan walls, and table sets stood beside large windows. A boundless expanse of sunshine seeped into her hair. His line of sight fell upon her the instant he entered the bakery, and he gawked at nothing else.

She was always behind the counter, slamming her tiny fist on the top of her dilapidated cash register. Her ebony locks curled to the end of her shoulder blades. Long eyelashes complimented her familiar brown eyes. In a gentle fashion, they met his, and his knees almost collapsed.

Thin lips stretched into a smile, and displayed whitened teeth. "Hello again," the girl greeted. Softness defined her soprano tone of voice, and supplemented her amiable nature.

"Hi," he smiled, and ignored a flutter in his chest. "The usual?”

"Sure," a slim finger reached upward, and swiped back a renegade strand of hair. "I saved a special sugar cookie for you. Somebody canceled the original order, so I made it prettier." Her head disappeared under the counter, and she returned with an alabaster package in her hands.

"Thanks," he uttered as she handed him the small parcel. Their palms brushed across one another, and for a sweet second, he ceased breathing.

"I'll be back with your coffee," her soft hand slid from the counter-top. A smile graced her lips, and her delightful frame skipped off to the coffee machine.

The man stifled an amused chuckle. She retained girlish tendencies, which cemented proof of her age. Eighteen-year-olds were often childish. He let himself smile at the theory he deduced. Because he never asked her questions that likened conversations to interrogations, the man lacked information about the girl at the register.

Months ago, he entered a small-town bakery one morning, and forked over what little sense he possessed. She became the cause of his sleepless nights, unproductive days, and abnormal behavior. He never minded when she caused a quaver in his voice, or ruined his appetite. Those effects were consequences from his condition, and charming evidence. He convinced himself of his own feelings, but could he win her attentions?

The thought had never occurred to him, and while the girl at the register fixed his order, he pondered on it. He was a simple man of twenty-three years with no reasonable nest egg, no way to support a family, and a simplistic face. Still, he dreamed of gaining this girl as his bride.

"Sir?" a quiet voice broke through his thoughts. The instant his brain regained its life, a premonition of dread strained his heart.

He realized his expression made him resemble a shocked deer, but control of his facial muscles was the least of his concerns. “What?"

"Your coffee?" the girl at the register lowered her eyes, and stared at the caffeinated brew in her grasp.

"Coffee, right. How much for this?" he lifted the cookie container in his hand.

"Nothing, take it. The coffee is still four dollars, though.”

The man enjoyed the mildness that infected her phrases. While she asked for money, she remained gentler than any other woman he had ever met. The young man reached into his pocket and retrieved a wallet, groped its barren depths, and retrieved the currency. Then, he laid the money on the counter, and watched her humble herself. She collected the money, whacked the cash register once, and the bottom container surged forward. The girl sighed, and placed the cash in its proper place.

One more smile passed between them before he compelled his legs to recommence. His regular table awaited him in a small corner, away from the other patrons. The young accountant sat in his usual chair, and sipped his coffee. He stole a glance at the girl at the register, bit into his cookie, and then admired her again.

The girl at the register emanated a rare substance called allure. Elegance radiated from her physique, and she resembled an untouched daisy left to bloom in a country meadow. There were dozens upon thousands of daises in that meadow, yet one stood out from the rest. It wasn't more fragrant, tall, or its petals more gorgeous than the others, it was her cleanliness that attracted him.

By chance, his sight drifted towards the watch that adorned his wrist. Fifteen minutes remained for his lunch break. The man grasped the timepiece with one hand, and inhaled the rest of his confection with another. The young man stole a farewell glance at the girl, but he avoided notice of the girl's focused glare until it was too late.

Fear crippled his body, and stifled any air making its way to his lungs. He wanted a liquid to quench the intense thirst thwarting his thinking capacity. His stomach executed giant leaps, an ordeal surpassed by the rapid pace of his pulse. A lump planted itself within his throat, and he swallowed five times, yet the lump remained.

Something choked out the color from his cheeks, and replaced it with a garnet hue that rivaled the reddest rose. He had to dodge the unseen walls encroaching upon him. The man forgot the coffee he paid for, and bolted from the pleasant bakery.

The rapid pace of his heart impeded his escape. Shallow breaths came from his mouth at equal speed, and the mid-day sun seared his pale skin, exacerbating his need for a break. The nimbleness of his legs had diminished since his high school years. He blamed his sedentary vocation, and too many sugar cookies. After a few failed attempts to calm his nerves, the man caught a strange urge to read a book.

The man explored the streets until he found the library. He discovered his consciousness swerving through the aisles of non-fiction. While he wondered how he got there, his fingers brushed across the bindings of several books. He settled on a title referring to the Second World War, and his intellectual curiosity piqued along with his memory track. A mental picture of the girl at the register displayed in his mind. He rolled his eyes at the naivety his thoughts resorted to, and plucked the book from the shelf with brusqueness.

He traversed the gray carpet, and made a trail toward the designated study ward. Several desks in a row, with one chair against them, comprised the dedicated section of the library. An empty desk enticed the man, and he claimed it for his own. He set the book on the wooden surface, and opened it to the first page.

An interesting array of history laid before him, yet he had to force himself to concentrate. His fingertips glided along the page, his eyes seeing words, but his brain refused to process them. The mind behind his intelligence remained beside dark hair, and skin the texture of excellent fudge. Then, the man remembered he banished thoughts of her from his mind. The complex reasons for such a decision made for a painful recollection of the guileless memories they shared.

The weeks spent in her company slipped from his fingers, and he was no surer of his future than when he first met her. Heaviness seeped into his shoulders, and a yawn tumbled from his lips. The man glanced at his watch. Three hours had passed since he entered the library. The man left the book on the table, and set a course toward the exit. His vision remained on the carpet beneath him. He avoided the masses, but when he lifted his eyes, the man saw a disturbing amount of recipe collections.

The man raised an eyebrow. He made a wrong turn between the many aisles that constituted the knowledge trove. His sight drifted enough for him to question his sanity. A woman with shoulder-length black hair reached farther than her meager arms would allow.

She grasped a thick book, and tugged it toward her. The man breathed a sigh of relief when no other tomes descended atop her head. Blue jeans, decorated with bleach stains and spots of Confectioner's sugar, garnished her legs. A simple, white blouse hugged her torso. Her feminine curves were on display, and he could not help but stare at her figure in admiration. It was the last peek he promised to take of the girl at the register.

The man drew in a gargantuan breath, and tiptoed toward the exit. His steps caused the carpeted floor below him to creak. The man denied his fantasies, and resorted to a normal stride. It was useless to pretend she was oblivious to her surroundings, and had not noticed him. He prepared himself to languish under her condemnation.

"Hey," a whisper from behind him aroused his eardrums.

Her voice sounded lighter than he conjectured. The man kept walking, despite the hypothesis that drifted through his thoughts. Had he imagined her anger toward him? He wished his assumption was true, but the man was not willing to take chances.

"Hello, mister," the second whisper sounded closer.

The man faced the whispers, and the blood drained from his extremities. His fingers became fat bananas, and his toes were large grapes. The girl at the register stood in front of him.

"You ran out on us. I didn't want you to think I forgot to say goodbye," the girl smiled. It was the sweetest smile he had ever seen.

"You wouldn't do that," the words poured from his lips. As awe stricken as he was, the man wondered why he did not stumble through a misshapen half-sentence.

The girl continued to grin, though in a sweeter way. "I hope you'll come back tomorrow."

"I will," the man promised. "What are you doing here?"

The girl gaped at him with her lips forming a straight line. Soon, her smile reformed to its earlier testament to feminine loveliness. "Me and my friend got into an argument over baklava," answered the girl. "I wanted to look at the cookbooks. Now, it's my turn to ask a question.”

The man shrugged. "We're friends, aren't we? Go ahead, and ask away."

"Well, we've known each other for a while, but I don't know your name."

The man clinched his jaw, to prevent himself from cursing his stupidity. "My name’s Emmett.”

"I’m Maria Trammel. Nice to meet you, again," Maria chuckled in a soft tone.

Emmett pressed his lips together as his status as a failure tore into his skin, and caused him physical pain. The girl’s eyes bored into his own, and charged him with cowardice. Her willingness to endure his missteps confused, but empowered him. Maria operated on his nerves, calmed him down, and presented him with grit.

Folly intoxicated him, and a transparent phrase rested on his tongue. "Could, or, can I take you out to dinner tonight?"

"You mean, a date?" Maria stared at him in solemn shock.

"Yes," Emmett coughed.

Maria stayed silent. Her eyes diverted from his, and darted around the room. Emmett struggled to keep his breathing steady while the girl he thought of as his first friend refused to answer him. An eternity passed before he saw her mouth open.

"Okay," Maria consented, and the butterflies that lived in his stomach stirred up again.

"Great," Emmett controlled his excitement, and kept his voice level. "Is seven thirty okay?"

"It’s fine."

"Where can I pick you up?"

"The bakery. I'll change, of course," she swept the dust off her blue jeans.

The excited glow around her face made him want to yell and jump for joy. Emmett grinned at her, then became aware of his wide smile. The corners of his lips turned downward, and he scratched behind his ear.

"Thanks," said Emmett.

"You're kind," Maria held her hands in front of her. "That's why I said yes."

Emmett averted his gaze from Maria, and glanced at his watch. "I have to go back to work. See you tonight?"

"I'll be waiting." He glimpsed at her, and he saw graciousness envelop her smile. It extended across her freckled, white face, and transferred to his own lips. "Goodbye, Emmett."

"Goodbye," Emmett repeated her salutation.

She gave him one last wave, and wandered away from him. He watched her leave, entranced by the memory of their exchange. The man breathed out a sigh, and swung himself forward. Emmett, who had never experienced a great triumph, discovered his gallantry. He left the library in high spirits, wanting to become friends with strangers. Maria enjoyed his company, and he relished the compassion of her conversation. Her patience with his fumbles gave him the perseverance he needed to achieve his goals.

Strength surged into his tired legs, fueled by a sense of pride. Emmett strolled the crowded streets, and admired the expansive world now open to him. His determination knew no bounds, and he was aware of its existence. Determination made men do strange things. It caused them to quit their jobs, go into business for themselves, and dive into matrimony.

Determination performed strange deeds, itself. It matured into an ambitious desire for a better life. Ambitious desire refined into success, which morphed into necessity. Necessity drove him to provide for a family he adored, created with a girl who once manned a dilapidated cash register.