Page 22 of Not Looking
And I knew better than to think he’d keep it to himself. Hell, if any of the other employees had come to the front while I was outside, they’d have smelled protective alpha.
I shook my head. I’d take the ribbing. I deserved it.
I rummaged underneath the counter in an attempt to keep myself busy so that I didn’t follow Randy around like a lost puppy. A container of disinfecting wipes let me remove at least the top layer of mill dust from around the register, and I tossed several empty drink to-go cups as I knelt to work on the shelves.
The click of dog nails against the floor told me that Randy had come back in from the warehouse, and that they went over to the shorts.
“I’m behind the counter if you need me,” I called out from where I was still digging through the accumulation of years of stuff.
“Thanks,” came the reply.
Even his voice hit some instinct that insisted he was mine.
I moved a box of assorted tape measures and found a box of thermal receipt paper behind it. I moved that box and found a third box covered in dust.
I pulled the box forward, blew the dust from the top, and opened it.
“Do they even make printers that use this kind anymore?” I muttered as I pulled out a roll of duplicate paper that would have once gone through a dot matrix receipt printer.
I shook my head and set it aside before returning the thermal rolls and tape measures to their previous spots.
A disintegrating cardboard box labeled ‘lost-and-found’ seemed to be almost completely full of the cheap safety glasses that were available on any jobsite. Next to that was a box of new, cheap safety glasses—still in the plastic wrappers—for employees who needed them.
I chuckled at the irony, then put the new ones back while leaving the lost-and-found box on the floor to go through later.
A box of contractor pencils sat next to a recycled box that once held pencils, but now contained a stack of yellowing business cards from customers. Several cracked clipboards with old purchase orders and quotes were kept from falling over by an even older stack of phone books.
I shook my head as I reduced the pile to only the most recent books and set the clipboards aside to review with Harrison later.
A throat-clearing caught my attention. I stood to see Randy standing on the other side of the counter.
“Sorry about that,” I said, brushing my hands on my jeans to knock some of the sawdust off. “How can I help you?”
He chuckled and motioned to his flat cart. “Ready to check out.”
I nodded, grabbed a notepad, and prepared to round the counter and get the numbers from everything.
“Oh, no need,” he said before I could even take a step. “It’s ready for you.”
I peered over and eyeballed his purchase. It was clear that he was used to the process. The marked side of two burls were turned so that I could read the weights and wood-type codes without having to walk around and inspect them. Same with the short cuts that he’d selected. A bucket of scraps was nestled in the middle, full, but not overfilled like some tried.
It was efficient, but gave no reason for me to get closer to him.
I nodded and started putting numbers into the point-of-sale. A moment later, he swiped a credit card.
I looked around, wondering if there was a canister of dog treats, but didn’t see one.
I’ll have to ask Harrison later.
Luckily, if Russy was expecting a treat, he didn’t show it.
There were no other customers, so I rounded the counter. “Mind if I walk you out?”
“You sure?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “I don’t have much.”
I shrugged. “I can help you load, or at least bring back the cart.”
“If you want,” he replied.
