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Me: Just tell me when.
Banana: I’ll let you know. I have to go, but we’ll talk later?
We’ve spoken every day for the past month. As if I’d change that up now. I doubt it’s even possible at this point. I’ve become attached to her.
Me: Yeah, we will. Bye, Banana.
Her goodbye comes instantly, and then I’m pocketing my phone and stepping into the cold.
With a bagof jerky in one hand and a bottle of Coke in the other, I stalk through the store toward the front tills. My wet boots squelch on the tile floor, the sound grating along my spine. At least the heat is blasting to fight the cold.
It’s almost unheard of to step away from the ranch to pick up lunch, considering my grandma’s love language has always been feeding hungry mouths, but I’ve been skipping most of her meals for a while now.
I love her food, but the company that comes with it, not so much. A half hour spent tensely eating across the table from my grandfather and his withering looks isn’t my idea of an ideal break. So I’ve been driving into town every afternoon to grab something to dull my hunger and taking my dinner straight to the shop every night. It’s a miracle I haven’t been called out on either yet.
There’s only one till open today, and I double blink when I notice the woman setting her items onto the conveyer belt. I ignore the urge to run my fingers through my hair, the ghostly feeling of hers doing the same just the other day slamming into me head-on.
She wasn’t supposed to be the one to cut my hair, but fuck if I wasn’t going to just accept her help and get on with it. I didn’t mean to treat her so poorly, and I’ve regretted beingthe one to bring that wounded look to her eyes since the moment it appeared. My judgment was misplaced, and she was undeserving of it.
I just hope my apology for everything sticks.
Anna speaks to the male cashier with an easy smile on her face, and for some reason, I’m almost jealous of the ease with which she speaks to him. There’s never been that ease between us. I haven’t allowed there to be.
He asks her if she wants a bag for her items, and she nods, taking it from his extended hand before starting to pack up her items. I narrow my eyes on her premade salad and sandwich, piecing together that she must be on her lunch break too.
I reach the till and hesitate to drop my items on the belt. Anna has her back to me, not noticing me yet. Her hair is up today, the slick length of it swinging back and forth across her back. She’s wearing that jacket again, the one that’s not warm enough. A pair of pink mittens stick out of the left pocket, so at least she’s not baring her fingers to the cold. The tips of her ears are red, though, so she didn’t wear a toque.
When she finishes bagging her items and turns around, she catches sight of me and jumps, rosy lips parting. I laugh, lifting the jerky in my hand and waving it around in greeting.
“I’m starting to think you’re following me,” she says. The slight quirk of her mouth gives away her amusement.
Finally, I set my things down and move closer. She’s so much shorter than me but seems to hate that fact if the way she fixes her posture to make herself as tall as possible is anything to go off.
“I’m just a man lookin’ for something to eat,” I reply.
Her eyes fall to my lunch on the belt. “I took you for a Cherry Coke guy.”
“I’m not a fan of overly sweet things.”
“The more bitter, the better, then?” she challenges, the double meaning in her question hitting home.
I can’t stop my laugh as it tears free. The cashier watches our interaction closely, no doubt making note of it to tell his friends later. I don’t care what he does with it, and that surprises me.
“Are you goin’ to pay anytime soon?” I ask, changing the subject without giving her an answer to her question.
“Right,” she mutters. After she steps up to the debit machine, the guy reads how much she owes, and she reaches into the jacket pocket stuffed full of mittens. As she pulls her hand back out, her cheeks flush. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
The anxious pitch of her voice has me on alert. “What’s wrong?”
“My wallet’s at the salon.”
Oh. I shrug a shoulder, looking to the cashier. “Just add my stuff to hers, and I’ll pay.”
“Alright,” he says before reaching for my beef jerky.
Anna jumps toward me. “No! You’re not buying me lunch.”
“Why not?”
