Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
He doesn't poke or prod or say shit like "you should smile more" and I think that makes him a smart man. With the mood I'm in today, it's likely I'd scratch his eyes out.
I'm just trying to make it through this last transaction, praying no one else comes in, before I can lock the front door at his back after he's gone.
"This is the closest grocery store to my house," he says after a long beat of silence.
I continue to ring up his groceries. What in the world does he expect me to say?
I can't tell if he's making small talk or if he's going to ask me over after I get off work. Either way, I'm not interested, despite how ruggedly handsome the man happens to be. That's the thing. There are a lot of good-looking men in Vegas. It's sort of like a requirement for success around here. Either be rich or look good. That's what opens doors in a town like this.
"I'm new in town," he continues.
I'm not we're, despite the fact that he's buying enough food for a small cult.
He has to be buying for more than one person, and from the looks of all the junk food, I'd say at least a couple of kids. I don't know many adults who willingly eat potato chips, fruit snacks, and microwavable pizza pockets by the bucketful.
Despite the quick easy stuff, he also has a variety of fresh meat and vegetables, too. I imagine these items are for him because I can't picture Mr. Fit and Healthy eating all the crappy food.
A quick glance at his left hand and the absence of a wedding ring doesn't mean anything. There are a lot of non-traditional families who shop here. Maybe he has a significant other and doesn't wear a ring. Maybe he's single and has multiple personalities. None of it matters.
"I have eleven packs," he says when I point to the shopping cart full of bathroom tissue.
"I need to see the price on the front," I say, holding my hand out until he pulls one from the cart and hands it to me.
I key in the price eleven times because the relic of a register doesn't have a multi-item function.
"Would you like to buy some Halloween candy?" I ask, pointing to the pumpkin-shaped bucket.
I feel like a fool every time I ask a customer to purchase add-on items, knowing full well they'd grab them when shopping if they needed it, but it's required.
"Sure," he says with a smile that honestly looks too good on his handsome face. "I'll take them all."
My lips form a flat line as I reach for the bucket, knowing it's just one more thing I'll have to restock before leaving for the night.
I ring up the candy and bag them, praying the man doesn't tell me he doesn't have the money when I look at the price. If he can't pay, I'll have to restock all of these items.
"One thousand forty-eight dollars and seventy-two cents," I say.
He doesn't hesitate to pull his wallet from his back pocket, flipping it open and pulling out a stack of cash.
I can't help but glare as he counts out eleven one-hundred-dollar bills before handing them over to me. Dumbfounded that someone would carry that much cash on them, I can't help but stare down at the money in my hands.
"They're real," he says with a laugh when I'm delayed in pulling out my anti-theft marker.
"It's store policy," I mutter as I draw a line on each one.
They all test negative for counterfeit, but as I tuck them under the register tray and gather his change, I can't help but wonder if counterfeit technology has moved beyond the capabilities of the pens we have available to us. I'll literally cry if the deposit to the bank comes back and this money isn't real.
"Have a great evening and thank you for shopping at Main Street Grocery," I tell him with very little enthusiasm as I hand him his change.
"Thank you, Kaylee," he says, his eyes locked on mine for a few seconds longer than would be considered appropriate.
I pull in a deep breath, but he doesn't budge.
"Are you alone here?"
I freeze, wondering if he's concerned or trying to figure out how easy of a victim it would make me.
"Have a good night, sir," I say with more than a little annoyance in my tone, doing my best to stand a little taller, but the man has easily more than a foot on me.
He frowns as if he's just now realizing how his question sounded, but he doesn't backpedal and assure me he isn't a creep looking for someone to hurt.
I take a breath of relief when he dips his head one last time, tucks his receipt and change into the front pocket of his jeans, and grabs the handles of his shopping carts.