Page 44 of SALT

"For now? Are we getting another person in here?" She queries as she rests her elbow on the station.

"Yes," I say as I count the drawer. "I'll be cross training someone from concessions who can fill in if one of us is out. That doesn't fix our dilemma today, but we'll be able to go watch the third inning. Since the stadium just opened, the shop will most likely be busy with new visitors wanting to check out everything and purchase merch, and then, if we're up in the seventh inning, people will probably trickle in as well."

"Why the seventh inning?"

"Most pro-stadiums stop serving alcohol during the seventh inning. That's not a thing here, but I'm betting on visitors not knowing that, which means they will be out of their seats getting their last call and we will probably get foot traffic, especially if we are up. We'll get the fair-weather fans who didn't want to make a purchase before seeing the team in action."

"Huh, you're pretty smart, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure if you're making fun of me or if that's a compliment."

She shrugs. "Me either."

I can't help but laugh. I may not fully understand her, but she makes me laugh and keeps things interesting. The sound of the security gates rising at the entrances have us both turning toward the door.

"Get ready. It's about to get crazy."

"Maybe I can ask Lauren if I can get an assistant position. I didn't realize how much work I'd actually be doing when I took this one," Stormy says as she refolds a table of shirts.

It's annoying when customers hold up T-shirts to see what size they want. Even more so when they dig through the pile, hold up all the different sizes, and then choose the first one they held up. I didn't realize how irritating that would be. Luckily, we've been busy enough that I haven't had any real time to hyper-focus on it, but every spare second my eyes get between sales or fielding questions, the messy tables grate on my nerves. We have the game on in the shop and they're tied in the bottom of the third. Even with a close game, the store has been busy, which surprises me a little. But I'm happy for Connor. I am happy to play a small role in bringing his dreams to life. Every item sold in the shop is a walking billboard for the Bulldogs on the street.

"What did you do before you started working here?"

"This and that. I kind of float around and do what I feel like doing."

"And Lauren is okay with that? Don't you want to move out or buy a car?"

She folds up the last shirt and sticks her hands in the back pockets of her ripped-up overalls before rocking back on her heels. "You're making a lot of assumptions over there. What if I'm a secret billionaire?"

"Wow, now I feel like an ass." That was a lot of rude conjecture. However, her style, age, and what she told me scream freeloader. "I'm sorry. That was rude, and honestly, I'm the last person with any room to pass judgments."

"It's fine. I'm sure you get it all the time too."

"I look like I'm a freeloader?" Her eyebrows raise, and she rolls her lips, and I realize I once again inserted my foot in my mouth. "Oh my god, I am so sorry."

She holds her hand up and shakes her head. "Don't be sorry. Your words insinuated as much before you spelled it out. But no, I was going to say gold digger."

"You think I'm a gold digger?"

"Well, yeah. You drive an Audi, come in dressed up, wearing high-end brands and a full face of makeup every day to work a summer job in a team shop at a baseball stadium…" She walks over to the hat rack and straightens a row before adding, "Plus, I know where you lay your head at night."

I pull out a box from under the counter and set it down a little harder than anticipated due to its weight. When she turns toward me in question, I play it off as intentional. "You'd be wrong. You may not be a secret billionaire, but I am… well, not a billionaire, more like a millionaire."

"No shit? So you're just banging the old man? I mean, he doesn't look his age. He looks good for what, forty-five, forty-six-ish?"

"We are not banging, thank you very much," I say as I pull out the box of jerseys that didn't fit and toss her the one with Parker's name on it.

She catches it. "What's this?"

"What do you mean? It's Parker's jersey. I'm not stupid. I know you're into him."

She throws it back. "I can't wear that."

"Why not?"

For a second, I think maybe I've again managed to offend her with my unfounded assumptions, but then she says, "Because… it's more fun to watch him squirm." She comes over to the counter. "Give me one for one of the guys he doesn't like."

"So does that mean you are into Parker?" I ask as I dig through the box and pull out McKenna's jersey. Parker gets along with everyone, but he looks at Jordan as competition since he's the other starting pitcher.

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