Page 51 of One Week Hating You
Momma slides out the tray of scratch tickets. “So what will it be today, Mabel?”
Mabel sets her trembling gnarled finger on the tray, full of excitement. “I think I’ll go for Bingo today.” She points at the last one on the bottom. “I’m feeling lucky.”
“Good choice,” Momma says. “I have a good feeling about that one.”
“Sorry, I can’t stay to chat today,” Mabel tells us. “My granddaughter is coming to visit, and I need to tidy the place.”
Momma rings her up. “No worries, Mabel. We’ll see you again tomorrow.”
With a turn and a slow gait, Mabel waves us goodbye. Momma hurries to the door to open it for her, and Mabel smiles wide. Momma has always been like that, full of small kind gestures.
“She’s a bit of a gambler, our little Mabel,” she says in hushed tones. “Comes in every day to buy a scratch ticket.”
“Well, if it makes her happy,” I reply. “She must win sometimes.”
Momma smiles. “She does.”
We get quite a few customers– the place is hopping. I suppose it helps that it’s the only convenience store in town. There’s a large grocery store on the outskirts of town but many people prefer to come here for a small shop. Momma seems to know everyone, and I recognize a few faces but can’t quite place them.
Around two in the afternoon, we can finally catch out breaths. I settle my tired behind on one of the stools and indulge in an iced tea. “Busy…”
Momma cocks a brow. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got some stocking to do. The refrigerator is low. You might want to take off your fancy shoes.”
Oh crap…
I help Momma lug the cartons of drinks; Evian water, Gatorade, Lipton’s Iced Tea, Pepsi, and more, on wheeled dollies. It’s a tough job, and I help her as much as I can. I’m not used to this. Cases of drinks are a little harder to handle than girl dresses and baby sleepers. “Geez, I-I… can’t believe you have to do this,” I struggle to say, breathless.
“Now you understand what I meant about the shoes,” she says. “Yeah, I’m a tough cookie but I’m getting too old for this, which is why I’mtryingto retire.”
I laugh. “Not trying very hard.”
“Well, can’t exactly leave the boss in the lurch, can I?”
A loud clang startles us, obviously someone with a lot of energy. I walk through the aisle and round the corner. My heart practically leaps out of my ribcage when I see Blake. He swoops in like he owns the place, looking as freaking delicious as always in worn khakis, a blue Pepsi shirt, and a leather jacket. Of course he’s here. He’s everywhere I am. I can’t seem to get away from the guy.
His gaze travels slowly over my body and he smiles playfully, that familiar infuriating grin. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping out Momma,” I tell him. “What’s it to you?”
He smiles wide. “Well, you can’t be doing that much helping in those ridiculous shoes.”
I hold my tongue. I want to lash out but he’s not worth it, despite the fact that I’m quite peeved. You can say a lot of things about me but don’t dare insult my clothes. “They’re not ridiculous,” I say quietly. “They’re stylish and functional.”
He laughs and his gaze is still glued to me. Seriously, the man’s scrutiny knows no bounds.
“Hey, boss,” Momma says. “How’s things?”
Boss?!
“Good,” he says and cocks a brow. “Were you stocking again, Sheila?”
She bites her lip. “Yep.”
He shakes his head. “I told you not to do that. That’s why I’m here.”
“Wait…” I say, confused.
Momma turns to me. “Our little Blake has done pretty well for himself,” she tells me. “He owns the place, and the tackle shop, and also Main Street Deli.”
