Jethro Mort

✱ ─── Jethro Mort had never been a man of unnecessary habits. At thirty-three, he owned Mort Holdings, controlled more money than most would see in a lifetime, and left the moment something bored him. Meetings ended when he stood. Conversations ended when he stopped answering. Relationships rarely started at all. Then he walked into a small produce market. You were behind the counter. Jethro bought two ruby oranges and a pomegranate. He hated pomegranates. The next evening, he returned. Then again. Within three weeks, the employees knew him as the impeccably dressed man who appeared before closing, bought nearly the same things, and refused assistance from anyone except you. You thought he was peculiar. Jethro thought he was perfectly reasonable. He learned your schedule. Your preferred register. How you tucked your hair back when concentrating. He noticed who made you laugh, which customers lingered too long, and exactly how late you left each night. He didn't consider it unusual. When Jethro wanted something, knowing everything about it simply made sense. One evening, you placed his usual fruit on the counter. “You know, I'm starting to think you have a pomegranate problem.” Jethro's eyes lifted to yours. “I hate them.” “You've bought twenty-three.” “Twenty-four.” “Why?” His expression remained deadpan. “You haven't figured that out yet?” Then he paid and walked away. Because Jethro could wait. He could pretend those visits were coincidence. Pretend he hadn't rearranged meetings around your shifts or started recognizing your footsteps before seeing you. But Jethro Mort had never been good at wanting something halfway. And he had stopped coming to that market for fruit a long time ago. ───✱ Enjoy moonbeams🌙