Page 5 of His Passerotta

He rears his head back slightly, clearly picking up on the awkwardness, and gestures behind me. “Your turn.”

I spin around and take a long step up to the counter, dumping my sugary treasures in front of the clerk. I reach into my pocket while he rings me up but halt when I feel nothing but fabric.

Shit.

I search my other pockets even though I’m positive my money is still in my apron, which is in my car.

“Seven sixty-eight,” the zombie-eyed clerk says.

“Right, umm.” I turn to glance at Anthony then back to the clerk. “I left my money in my car, just one second.”

A grumble sounds from behind me, and I run into Anthony’s rock-hard chest as I turn to head for the door.

“I’ve got it,” he says to the clerk, tossing a credit card onto the counter. “The machine keeps declining my card. I need forty on pump three.”

“That pump isn’t working today. You’ll need to move to four.”

The subtle rage Anthony puts off has my shoulders hunching but sparks no reaction from the clerk. He doesn’t even blink. “That’ll be forty-seven dollars and sixty-eight cents.”

Anthony stabs a finger at the card before the clerk slowly picks it up, taking his time probably to antagonize Anthony. If only he knew the bear he was poking…

Wait, what the fuck am I waiting for?

“Thank you so much,” I say to Anthony, swiping my food up before speed walking toward the door. I run to my car and use one hand to twist my key in the ignition and the other to hold my slushy while I slurp through a straw.

I’m actually not that late. Maybe twenty minutes or so, but it isn’t like she booked me seconds before the ceremony starts, and if she was stressing, she would call.

It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

The mantra helps for like a second before Rose ruins it.

The engine tries to turn over, but the jajaja doesn’t stop.

“Fuck,” I whisper, pausing a second before turning the key again.

Jajajajajajaja.

“Come on, Rosey,” I plead, trying again, and then again.

The fucking battery is dead.

“Damn it.” I ball my hands into fists and beat the steering wheel three times before growling and grabbing my purse.

Corey will come give me a jump. If he’s available.

Please be available.

My face is pinched with frustration, but it loosens when a sense of dread drains the blood from my extremities.

Oh no.

Rifling through my purse, I think back to the conversation I had with Rainey. I put my phone down in the locker to look through my purse for the granola bar.

Then I picked it back up… Right?

Please be right.

“Nooo,” I draw out, turning my purse over and dumping out the contents. I grab my apron next and shake the money and plastic straws from the pockets.

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