The Third Lamp

They arrived at the same moment in the lamp aisle at the Hobby Lobby. They stood side by side, both examining lamps with Kelly green bases, and bronze harps and finials.

“Are we looking at the same lamps?” she asked.

“I’m looking at the green ones. Are you?”

“I am.” She was a petite woman in her late twenties. “I need two lamps. I’ve been looking for months. I think these are exactly what I want.”

He laughed. “We have identical needs.” He was a few inches taller than she was, not yet 30, dressed in black jeans, and a white, Denver Bronco’s T-shirt. “I think I got here a step ahead of you.”

She picked up one of the lamps and handed it to him. “You get first prize, my friend.” She picked up the other lamp and added, “I’ll take second prize, okay?”

He stood there, really looking at her now. She had strawberry blonde hair, closely cropped and green eyes that really seemed to sparkle, in the moment, probably driven by anger. “I was here first, but I think you should have this lamp too. I can keep looking, I guess.” He extended the lamp toward her.

“Nope. I’ll find another one. You keep it, my friend.” She turned and walked quickly to the checkout line.

He felt a bit foolish, but he also believed he had been right about getting there first. And he had tried to be generous, offering her the other lamp. What was her problem?

Two weeks later, on a rainy day, one with intermittent thunderstorms, he walked into his fourth Hobby Lobby, more than 30 miles from his apartment. He was hoping this location would have the matching lamp he needed. He had recently bought a bedroom set. Now, he wanted farmhouse jar lamps, and the green ones seemed perfect. Not that he recognized the lamps as farmhouse jar stye. He didn’t. He just liked the look of them.

He strode from one aisle to the next, looking for the lamps. Finally, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a huge lampshade. He made the turn toward the lamps and there she was. The strawberry blonde who had purchased the other lamp. She was staring intently at the green lamp on the shelf. There was only one. He couldn’t imagine why she was staring at it rather than just picking it up. She didn’t see him coming.

He stepped in front of her and picked up the lamp. “Got it!” he said.

She looked at him. “Oh! It’s you. She smiled a little. “That’s my lamp, mister.”

“Does it have your name on it?” he asked. He was laughing, now. He handed her the lamp and said, “You better take it this time.”

She shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want it.” She returned it to the shelf.

“What is your name? I have to know, because when I tell my friends this story they won’t believe it. Maybe if I know your name they will.”

She brushed back a wisp of hair. “I already gave you a name,” she said.

“It’s Justin. Were you close?”

She grinned. “Well, it started with a J.”

He nodded and stuck his hand out, suddenly wanted to touch her. “So, what is your name?”

She accepted his hand. “Cassidy.”

“Take the lamp, please,” he said.

“Okay.” She picked it up.

“There’s a good Mexican restaurant two doors down. You can thank me by buying me a couple of tacos for being such a nice guy,” he said. He glanced at the shelf where the prized lamp had been.

“After I pay for this lamp, I probably won’t have enough money to buy you one taco.” The sparkle had returned to her eyes, but they weren’t angry this time.

“My treat then, Cassidy.”

“I was joking!”

Rain was coming down hard. He grabbed the lamp, and they ran to the restaurant. When they were seated, he asked her, “Where are your lamps going?”

“My bedroom. I’ve been looking for farmhouse jar lamps for months. In fact, this Hobby Lobby was my last hope. I’ve been to six locations.”

“Well, at least that saves me time. You know, I looked online and couldn’t find them.” He sipped his draft beer. “What do you do for a living?”

“Well, I write for an online political magazine when I’m not working in a flower shop in Denver.”

“A writer? Really?”

“Does that surprise you?” She asked.

“No. Well, I pictured you as a lawyer.”

She laughed. “How did you get that idea?”

He raised his hands in a defensive posture. “When you said, ‘That’s my lamp mister,’ I thought you were ready to go to court.”

“I see. And what do you do?”

He lowered his head. “I’m a landscape architect.”

“I just bought my first house. You might be worth knowing after all.”

It was a moment of genuine connection. They obviously enjoyed banter and they both seemed able to take it as well as they gave it. Their tacos arrived. They ate in silence for a few minutes. The storm got worse. He gestured toward the windows and said, “We probably should take our time.” A double flash of lightning punctuated his words. “Does Hobby Lobby sell canoes?”

“If they do, I’ll bet they only have one. And for the record? It’s mine.”

“You think you can outrun me?” He asked.

“Yep, I was on the track team in college.”

“I’m impressed but you’ll be carrying your lamp.”

They lingered for a while until the rain stopped. He picked up the tab and they exchanged phone numbers. He called her two nights later to ask her out. It went well. Eighteen months later, they were living in a stone cottage with a rose garden and hydrangeas in full bloom. The nursery was set up for their expected arrival. The third lamp rested on the baby’s dresser.