This story is from a prompt. Write about a conversation with a stranger who turns out to not be a stranger. Include five different “clicks” that happen as your character begins to remember the person.

It was one of those lines that went nearly around the perimeter of Whole Foods when COVID embraced our town. Everyone stood their respectful distance from the stranger ahead and the stranger behind waiting as the line inched toward the three clerks at the front of the store. I was halted next to the deli section. Not a good thing since all I needed to buy was a bag of organic lettuce and one of organic arugula.  My weakness is stinky French cheese. I eyed all the goodies, especially the creamy raclette and camembert that always enticed my taste buds into a dance of ecstasy. I averted my eyes and caught the smile of the man standing behind me. With raised eyebrows, he nodded toward the cheeses acknowledging the temptation. He looked oddly familiar but not. Click.

The five-day stubble beard was interrupted by a ragged trail of a scar scoring the left side of his face from temple to chin, nicking the side of his mouth. The scar pulled his mouth to the left with a little pucker so his smile was lopsided but never-the-less friendly. His left eye drooped.

“A reminder of Paris, eh?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” I replied inhaling the memories. Click

I turned to move my cart forward.

A low laugh, full and rich, rumbled smoothly from his belly to throat and made me look back again. His eyes, a deep brown, looked me over from tête to toe. Click.

“Imagine seeing you at a grocery store in Tucson after all these years and all those miles.”
I stared hard at him again. “Do I know you?”
“Does Les Deux Magots one midnight in July 2003 ring a bell?”

A warm melting quiver involuntarily coursed through my body. Click.
Again, I moved my cart forward, my mind racing through a dense forest of memories of those balmy July evenings.

“Sorry, did I disturb you?” he asked quietly.
“I can’t believe, it is you, Anthony. What happened?”  I looked directly at his scar. He had easily been one of the most attractive men I’d ever met, let alone bedded.  The magnetism had been more than skin deep but his handsome face had instant appeal.

“One of those crazy challenges I couldn’t resist.”

I pulled my cart out of the line and circled back to him. Standing well within the prohibited six-foot radius of personal space I could smell his signature Jaguar Black Classic cologne. The musk, cedar, and bitter orange combination was the clincher. Click.

The disruption in the orderly line was noted by the other patrons who dithered their carts attempting to reestablish regulation.

“A race?”
“Of course. And I won. But the ending was,” he paused, “explosive – one might say.”

Again, the low laugh that sent me back in time. He pulled his cart out of line and a collective sigh ruffled through the systemized cart-pushers.

“Do you have someplace to be or could we grab a cup of coffee? I’m in town for just a few days. I was going to look you up and I’m amazed at our serendipitous meeting. Meant to be, I guess.”

We left our carts at the end of the deli section and walked over to the coffee bar.

“Two French press Carte Noir, s’il vous plait.” Anthony told the barista.

I smiled. Ah, the memories that order brought back and it wasn’t just one midnight.