Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
I do so loudly enough that the girl stocking cans at the other end of the aisle glances over before going back to her work. Seeing her profile and the long, black ponytail paired with those killer cheekbones makes my breath come short. Unlike yesterday, she’s wearing a dark blue uniform smock over a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a pricing gun is sticking out of her back pocket, but otherwise, she looks just the same.
What are the chances? Becky.
My body’s tingling as I pretend to go back and forth between two types of sauce. There’s a decision to make here. Do I say something? Do I pretend I didn’t notice her? I might never get another chance to talk to her—though what the hell do I say? Do I have any right?
In the end, curiosity is stronger than politeness. And it’s not like I’ll ever have to see her again. I doubt Romero would invite her over. Even though I have no idea what to say or why this is so important, I head her way with my heart pounding.
“Hi,” I murmur once I reach the wheeled cart stacked with cans. This is a bad idea. It's too late now.
At first, when she glances at me, there’s no recognition. I’m another customer wanting some of her time. “Can I help you?” she asks before grabbing another couple of cans.
Then she stops and stares straight ahead to the back of the shelf. “Oh.” That’s it. One word, and it’s barely even a word.
“I didn’t come here looking for you, I swear. I’m just grabbing some food.”
She turns sharply, taking more cans and sliding them onto the shelves like it’s the most essential thing anyone's ever done. “If you need help finding something, let me know.”
“Do you have a minute? Just a minute, I swear.”
“I really don’t.” She looks over my shoulder, then down toward the registers. “I’m sort of working...”
“Can I talk while you’re doing this?”
“Sure, but I’m really busy, and I don’t need you…” She sighs sharply before slapping a can of tomato soup onto the metal shelf. “I don’t need you to say anything, okay? You don’t owe me answers.”
Why do I feel like I do, then? I doubt I would care if I hadn’t listened in on their conversation. I know he hurt her, and that’s a feeling I know too well. “It’s just… I didn’t feel like we started off on the right foot yesterday.”
Her mouth barely moves when she mumbles, “We don’t have to start off on any foot. I was there to see him, not you.”
“I know, and I’m sorry if I seemed…”
“I was a stranger showing up out of nowhere, and obviously, he never mentioned me, so your reaction made sense.”
“That’s the thing. Romero never mentions anything. And just so you know, nothing is going on between us. It’s just… business.” I hate how the word sticks in my throat.
“Sure.” She snickers and shakes her head but still won’t look at me. “I heard he was being kind of weird about what he does now. Like it’s all some big secret.”
“I know. I just… I just wanted you to know that. And it’s not your fault,” I add, seeing as I’m an idiot who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. “I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong. He treats me like that, too.”
“Like what?” Now she stops after plopping a pair of cans on the shelf, turning to me. “How did he treat me? How would you know? Did he tell you about it?”
I am making a complete mess of this. “Okay, so maybe I listened from upstairs. Not because of you, because of him. I have to spend all this time with him, though I don’t know anything about him. And whenever I try, he shuts me down. I just wanted to know if he would do the same thing to you or if maybe I could learn a little something about him.”
“Congratulations, now you know. Romero treated me the same way.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as she goes back to work. “I know how it feels. It’s the worst, isn’t it? When you just want to talk to somebody, and they act like you’re the enemy.”
“Ten years.” She stops again, staring at the shelf. I get the feeling she sees something else. The past. “He was gone for ten years. He didn’t say goodbye. Nobody knew what happened to him. And then he just… shows up with no explanation, no hello, no anything.” Finally, her voice trembles with emotion.
“He’s infuriating.”
“Yeah. He’s infuriating.” She stares at the floor, and her breath is shaky. “What do you want to know about him?”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to…”
“No, really. What do you want to know? Because seriously, screw him. He left me at probably the worst time possible.” Her voice shakes again, and I wish I had never come over here. It’s not worth whatever this is doing to her.