She allowed herself a quick glance, very subtle and evanescent in its duration. As if made to promptly follow, the faintest of smiles crept over her mouth. For a moment, she felt like she was being looked at from behind; slight chills fell down her spine. She was unsure whether to react directly or indirectly, so instead pointed absently at the quintessential rectangular box that was nestled neatly between others of its kind.

"Umm, I think we're running low on that."

Just as expected, Wesley ambled into the back room. She turned around, allowing herself to lean against the counter. For a moment, Corinna wondered if there was even a need for whatever it was that she pointed at. Probably not.

"The Malt-o-Meal?" Wesley's head popped from out of the door, an eyebrow raised slightly. She was more focused on the dark-ish hair that fell lackadaisically into his contrastingly light eyes; it led her to wonder if hair could even be lackadasical. "Corinna? Is it the malt-o-meal we need?"

"Huh?" She blinked, eyebrows furrowing together in a futile attempt to recollect the words that he spoke those few short seconds ago.

"The Malt-o-Meal. Is that what you pointed to?"

She wondered if he was growing impatient, so nodded her head "yes," completely unaware of whether or not she had pointed at that particular product. Ah well, she figured; go with the flow.

It was a few minutes later that he stepped out, holding in his hands and arms several boxes of the hot cereal. With a small smile, he handed them over to her. "Stock those. Going on break."

"Kay." Corinna watched him as he left the store, hovering around the back lot. Though she turned her head around, she could clearly picture the image of him lighting up a cig, leaning cool-like against the brick wall. It made her smile to herself. Making room on the shelf for more Malt-o-Meal, she let out a small sigh.

She turned her head around for a moment, pretending as if she were looking for something, but instead sneaking a glance at him. Yep, there he was. Smoking a cigarette and tousling his hair all up. She couldn't help a smile from cracking.

He was everything that she or her whole family was not. She wondered if perhaps that was the real reason for this deep attraction to Wesley Farlings.

His family of four had just enough money to prevent them from being considered "poor." They had all the essential things - clothes, food, drink, and an apartment for living. From what she had gathered over the past year working with him, he used three-quarters of his paycheck on himself and gave the other quarter to his family, keeping up the stability. She assumed that his share helped to supply the cigarettes and the old, rusted, and worn truck he drove.

He epitomzed "cool." He didn't let things get to him and upheld a languid, relaxed, and laconic way of life. She wondered if they ever had a real conversation; surely he'd never said more than ten words to her at a time. Half of the time he spoke in fragments, completely void of proper sentence structure.

He wore ratty clothes that looked like they had seen better days. The hems of his denim pants were ripped and torn, she presumed from their being too long and his tendency to not fully pick up his feet when he walked.

He smoked. He was taciturn. He was lazy. And Corinna Whealdon knew that he would not last more than a day in her household; the parentals would make sure of that.