Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Her cheeks turn an impressive shade of pink as she fumbles with the headphone cords until she has them removed from her ears and in her pocket.
“Seriously, I’m so sorry. I think I ruined your boots.”
I almost want to laugh at how much time this woman has spent apologizing to me in the last week and a half. Someone better get Guinness on the line because she has to have reached a record by now.
Since I don’t have a cart of my own, I put my carton of eggs and Summer’s Danimals Smoothies in Norah’s cart and head for the front of the store to find Earl. He’s behind one of the registers, just like normal on Saturdays since he’s usually short-staffed.
“Hey, Earl,” I call out and successfully grab his attention. “Where are the mops?”
“Mops?” he questions as he runs a loaf of bread over the scanner for an older gentleman named Harold Metcalf, the owner of the diner on Main Street. I’m pretty good at recognizing everyone after being in Red Bridge for so long, but Harold with his distinct comb-over and handlebar moustache is hard to miss.
“I need to clean up a little spill.”
“Where at?”
“Refrigerator section. Just some milk.”
Instead of telling me where the mops are, he grabs the microphone beside his register. “Cleanup on aisle two!” His voice screeches and crackles through the speakers of the grocery store. “I repeat, cleanup on aisle two!”
For fuck’s sake.
“I can do it,” I urge, and he shakes his head.
“I don’t pay Lance to sit around and play on his damn phone. He’ll do it.”
Lance just turned eighteen and has been working at Earl’s for as long as I can remember. He’s also lazy as fuck and rivals Houdini whenever there’s work to be done. I once watched Earl shout for Lance to come help at checkout for a good ten minutes while I stood in line behind five other customers, only to find out he’d excused himself to Bear Lake with some friends twenty minutes prior.
As I head back toward the refrigerator section, I hear “Cleanup on aisle two, Lance!” another five times before I make it to where Norah stands in front of the milk spill.
Her cheeks are cherry red now, and there’s a part of me that would find that level of embarrassment over spilled milk adorable if I thought about it too much.
“Earl is handling the mop situation.”
“Yeah, I think everyone in the store is aware of that.” Irritation dances around the edges of her voice. “Did you really have to make such a thing of it?”
“It’s not a big thing. I tried to get a mop, but Earl insisted that one of his employees needed to do it.”
“Dammit, Lance!” Earl’s voice is in the speakers again. “Get off your butt and head to aisle two! It’s an emergency!”
Norah groans and rubs a hand down her face. “Holy hell, this is not an emergency.”
“It’s no big deal,” I tell her, and she looks up at me with narrowed eyes.
“Everyone in the store is looking.”
I glance over my shoulder and see that she’s not wrong. At least six people have walked toward the fridge section to see what all the aisle two fuss is about.
“Lance! Aisle two! Now! Emergency!”
Her true emotions are on full display now, and she flashes a glare in my direction. “Because of you, the Red Bridge firemen are going to end up getting called out again.”
“Because of me?” I question on a humorless laugh.
“Yeah. You. The mop emergency alarm-sounder.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not the one who dropped an entire gallon of milk on the floor just trying to turn around. If you’re going to point fingers at someone, you’d better do it at yourself.”
Narrowed eyes whip back to my face, and her pretty mouth parts in disgust.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be such a grumpy jerk, you know?” She glances down at my stuff in her cart and scoffs. “What kind of grown-ass man buys Danimals anyway?”
Lance chooses that exact time to show up, sleep in his eyes and a mop not much skinnier than him in his lanky hand, saving me from having to make up some line of bullshit. “What happened back here?” he grumbles, his voice raspy like he just woke up from a nap.
“I accidentally dropped the milk,” Norah admits. “I’m really sorry.”
“This is a mess,” Lance complains, and her cheeks go back to that pinkish-red hue again.
If it were me, I would tell Lance to fuck right off, but that’s not what Norah does.
“I know.” She grimaces and holds her hands together like she’s praying. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She’s back to the apologies. Back to polite. I can’t stop myself from poking at the flaw.
“You think I should line up everyone in the grocery store so you can start your apology tour?” I ask, and Norah’s gaze swings back toward me. “Probably’ll make it easier for you to get through them, you know?”