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“Chill, dude, it’s all good,” the man offered with a wide grin, then rang up the items. “That’s five dollars and eight cents.”
Stupid tax.
She smoothed the crinkled bill on the counter. “Yeah, as you can see, I’m good for the five, but about those eight cents. I don’t do public math, and I didn’t really compute the tax.” Her gaze flicked to the take a penny, leave a penny tray. “Would you mind if I borrowed a few of those?”
The cashier stared at her. “Eight isn’t a few. Three is a few.”
So much for good vibes.
“Eight could be a few,” she countered. “I believe the range for a few is any number between three and nine, and eight is solidly between three and nine.”
Let’s hear it for kindergarten math.Miss Miliken would be crazy proud of her.
“No,” the guy replied, stretching out the syllable. “I’m like one hundred and six percent positive eight doesn’t qualify as a few. You’ve got to put something back, lady.”
Oh, hell no!
She leaned in. “Listen, dude, if you know what’s good for—” she growled, then froze mid-rant as a familiar energy radiated behind her. It was a presence she recognized.
“I can cover what she can’t.”
A delicious tingle danced down her spine.
Traitorous tingly spine.
But getting irritated with her vertebrae didn’t change the fact that she recognized that voice.
His voice.
Her missing in action husband’s voice.
