SWEET SPOT

Hot Sauce 11

Nyla

I finally reached Subway and my legs were already aching from the walk. Two white vans were parked out front, with their back doors wide open. Workers were moving in and out, carrying large cartons. I quickly changed into my uniform in the small staff room and joined the others.

The boxes were heavier than they looked. I lifted one, feeling the strain in my arms as I carried it toward the storage room. On the side of the carton, bold red letters caught my eye: HOT SAUCE.

I frowned. We had never used this brand before. It looked expensive and premium. What were we going to use it for? Maybe for the fried items, burgers, or the new spicy sandwiches? I shook my head and kept moving.

“Hey, Yvonne,” I said when I caught up with one of the older workers. “What’s all this about? We’ve never had this many cartons before.”

Yvonne wiped sweat from her forehead and smiled. “Our boss won some kind of prize in the company competition. They gave him a thousand dollars’ worth of this hot sauce. Lucky us, right?”

“Oh, I see,” I replied, adjusting my grip on the box. “That makes sense.”

We worked for almost two hours, carrying everything inside, organizing the shelves, and cleaning up. By the time we finished, my back was sore and my arms felt like jelly. The manager gathered us, thanked us for the extra effort, and surprised everyone by giving each of us one carton to take home as a thank-you.

I changed back into my regular clothes, picked up my carton, and started walking toward the bus stop. The box was heavier than I expected, and I kept shifting it from one arm to the other.

That was when someone gently took the carton from my hands.

I looked up, startled.

Ezekiel stood right in front of me, smiling softly. He looked effortlessly handsome in a simple gray hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly messy like he’d run his fingers through it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. “And can I have the box back?”

“No,” he said, his smile widening. “Let me carry it for you.”

He fell into step beside me as we walked to the bus stop. “I was coming back from the library and saw you walking. Decided to help.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, feeling shy all over again.

We boarded the bus together. He insisted on holding the carton the whole ride, even though it was bulky. We sat side by side, the silence between us comfortable but charged. Every time his arm brushed mine, I felt a little spark.

When we reached my stop, I stood up. “Thank you again.”

I stepped off the bus… and immediately realized I had forgotten to take the carton from him.

“Oh s**t,” I sighed, pulling out my phone and texting him quickly.

Nyla: Totally forgot the box. Do not bother coming down, okay? I’ll take it when we meet again.

A minute later, his reply came.

Ezekiel: Okay. See you on Monday then.

Nyla: Sure.

I smiled at my phone, a warm flutter in my chest as I walked the short distance home.

***

EZEKIEL’S POV

The bus ride home felt longer than usual. I sat with the heavy carton balanced on my lap, staring out the window while my mind kept replaying the moment Nyla had looked up at me with that small, shy smile when I took the box from her hands. Her fingers had brushed mine for just a second, and it was enough to make my chest feel tight.

Then it hit me.

Oh no.

She had forgotten to take the carton when she got off the bus.

I jumped up, heart racing. “Excuse me! Can you stop the bus? I need to get off right now!”

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, looking unimpressed. “Sorry, kid. I can only stop at the next official bus stop. Safety rules.”

I groaned and sat back down, leg bouncing impatiently. The second the bus slowed at the next stop, I bolted out and started running back the way we came, the carton tucked awkwardly under my arm.

I spotted her a few blocks ahead, walking slowly, looking down at her phone. I was about to call out her name when my own phone chimed.

That was when I received her message about not bothering with the box till we meet next.

Ouch.

I quickly ducked behind a parked car so she wouldn’t see me. My heart was still pounding. I typed back fast, telling her it was okay.

I watched her smile at her phone before she continued walking. I let out a soft sigh, a strange mix of relief and disappointment settling in my chest. I wanted to see her again, even if just for a minute. But maybe it was better this way.

I turned and headed home.

The house was quiet when I got there. As the only son, I was used to the silence — my parents were away on another business trip. I dropped the carton on the floor in the living room the moment I got home and stared at it.

“Hot sauce,” I whispered, reading the bold text on the side of the carton.

Next, I went upstairs to my room, and damn, it was a complete disaster.

Clothes were scattered everywhere, books and papers covered the floor, the mattress was tilted against the wall, and random drawers were pulled out. I had spent the entire night turning the room upside down, searching desperately for the necklace I had given Nyla. I ended up sleeping on the couch because my bed was in ruins.

I sighed and rolled up my sleeves.

“Well,” I muttered, looking at the mess, “let’s get to work.”

I started cleaning, picking up clothes and folding them neatly, stacking books back on the shelf, and organizing the chaos I had created in my panic.