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“Next month. Right before the summer grilling season takes off. We’ll be shut down for about a week to get everything set up.”
Dieter’s is moving next month? I’ve only been coming here since December, but it’s funny how quickly routines can form and a person can cling to them. Soon, Murphy’s will be by itself on the block, surrounded by construction.
“Make sure you take a flyer so you have all our new info. Store hours and all that. Might even have a website.”
“Gonna be a big change for ya, after being in this place for so long.”
Todd nods. “Yeah, a lot of memories here. But I sure am excited about the new refrigerators and back room.”
I lurk at the corner of the barbecue sauce shelf, still unseen. “Aren’t they all the same? Saws and meat hooks?”
Todd’s eyes flash to me, and there’s no mistaking the wariness in them. “The one here’s got steps going down to it. My doctor says my forty-five-year-old knees can’t handle doing those a hundred times a day anymore.”
“Bet you’ve got the butt of a twenty-year-old, though, huh?” I quip.
Todd’s face turns beet red.
“Have a good day.” Waving the paper-wrapped package in the air, the customer heads out, chuckling.
“It smells different in here.”
“Does it?” Todd busies himself with replenishing the stack of butcher paper. “Must be the egg bread. Bakery brought me some.” He points to the far side, where a rack of the braided loaves sits.
“You brought in egg bread.” Only after I harassed him for months. I wander over to get a closer look. “Are these like the ones from Confetti’s?”
“Better.”
My mouth makes an O shape. “That’s a bold statement.”
He shrugs, but I catch the way the corner of his mouth twitches. “I hear Ned’s gonna supply HG with their appliances for the new condos.”
“Sounds like it.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
Todd specifically said there was no talk of HG. Is this a test?
I take my time strolling along the perimeter of the meat counters, feigning interest. I’ve never given his meat display much attention. “What’s that?” I tap the glass in front of a bucket of yellow sauce.
“Chicken breasts in a spicy mango marinade.”
My feet falter. Scarlet loves mango, and after I left her in the car that night, I owe her one. “You know what? I’ll take two of those. And a loaf of that egg bread.”
Todd’s eyebrows pop, but he quickly smooths them over. I’ve only ever bought soup and pretzel buns from him. “Coming right up.” He slides on fresh gloves and grabs a plastic bag. “What’s new with you?”
“Not much. Let’s see …” What’s happened since he kicked me out that day? “My brother’s engaged. The wedding’s in May, and Bastard Bill and his new girlfriend are in the wedding party.”
His hands pause mid-scoop.
“So is Garrett. Turns out he’s Sara’s cousin. So that’s going to be a fun day.”
“Sounds like it.” He shakes his head. “You still volunteering over at Bonny Acres every Friday?”
“Yup. Same old there. Shirley complaining about her starved sweet tooth and Nancy being Nancy.”
“She still not letting you call the numbers?”
“Not even once! What is it with her?” I let my frustration bleed into my voice. Todd and I have had many conversations about my Bonny Acres rival. He’s the only one who’s tolerated my rants for this long. As a longtime Bonny Acres volunteer, he’s convinced she feels somehow threatened by my presence. “I am, like, the least intimidating person in the world.”
He chuckles, and the sound chips away at my shield of caution. “She’s just particular. Always has been.”
“Thirty-six,” I drone, mimicking Nancy’s lackluster voice as my eyes skim the sign on the wall. Potato bacon. Garrett wasn’t lying.
Todd notices where my attention has landed. He rests his hands on the top of the display case. “Would you like some soup today, Justine?”
“I mean, I guess I may as well. Since I’m here.”
“Yeah, since you’re here.” He sets to filling a Styrofoam bowl, ladling extra bacon for me.
I stifle a sigh of contentment.
All is right in the world again, even if only for a little while.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I accept a strip of clear tape from Harper and stretch to affix the string of four-leaf clovers to the corner of the ceiling. The common room of Bonny Acres bustles with residents tonight. According to Shirley’s intel on my way in, it’s been a busy week. Roger from 2-A smuggled in a quart of whiskey on Tuesday night. They found him naked and passed out in a wing chair on Wednesday morning. And then Crystal in 3-F accused Natasha of trying to steal away her husband, Donald.
Everyone’s down here to see what happens next.
“Don’t you go falling off the ladder now,” Harper scolds, moving in with her arms out as if to catch me.
“Um, have you met me? I’m a pro at ladders. Comes with the territory of never being able to reach anything.”
