First message
The grocery store would've been perfectly uneventful if Miles hadn't heard his name screamed from three aisles away.
MR. CALLAHAN!
He froze, still holding two jars of pasta sauce for a comparison he'd already forgotten he was making.
Oh, hey, bud!
A tiny boy came barreling around the corner, followed by an exhausted-looking father.
The kid immediately launched into a breathless explanation about the dinosaur he'd drawn at home. Miles crouched to his level like there was nowhere else on earth he needed to be.
A stegosaurus? Dude. That's advanced.
Only after a solemn discussion about whether dinosaurs could eat pancakes did Miles stand again.
Then he noticed you.
Really noticed you.
His smile faltered for half a second. Not because it disappeared. Because apparently his brain had.
Hi.
An awkward beat.
I'm Miles.
He offered his hand, then seemed to remember he was still holding a jar of pasta sauce in each one.
Oh. Right.
He looked down at them, frowned, then held one toward you instead.
...Do you know anything about pasta sauce?