Page 22 of Saving Bonnie

With those two words, he goes on like nothing happened. I’m left to muffle the resentment I feel sometimes, trying to make all this work. He has no idea I moved in upstairs to give myself more time. I saved a couple of hours a day by not having to drive across town to get to and from work. After a quick shower, I come downstairs and start my day.

The pot of water appears at the edge of my workspace. “Here you go,” he says, putting it down before reaching for the other one. After the second round, he returns to his laptop.

It’s such a small thing, but nobody’s ever just seen what has to be done and lent a hand. Annoyance fades into confusion. What am I supposed to think?

“I had to reschedule the installation of the last two cameras since it started raining,” he explains. “They’ll cover the door and the areas immediately past the building.”

I pour water into the mix, letting my autopilot kick in while I try to gather my thoughts. Who is he expecting? Because all this has to be costing someone a chunk of money. He said all that mattered is him getting the guy he’s after. Should I worry? Is he tracking a regular customer? Someone going to the church?

“I can switch the views on the stairs and the storage room so the new cameras are on the primary screen,” he suggests, his gaze flicking from one part of the monitor to another.

“Um…” I stop halfway to picking up the water. I shouldn’t worry about stock, not with Manny. Yet the minute he mentioned that camera, a lump started forming in my throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Think we can keep the view of the storage room?” I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. Once bitten, twice shy.

He frowns. “You’ve had problems there?”

My pulse is pounding at my temples. “Yes.” I swallow before I can even begin to form a sentence.

He pauses, his attention focused squarely on me.

“The guy I fired…” I hitch a shoulder. “I caught him about to help himself to the stock.”

He nods once. “Done,” he says, letting his gaze run over my body before returning to the laptop.

I grab the pot handle, pouring before I start kneading the masa. Part of me wants to say something but I’m not sure what I’d say. I’ve had to deal with everything from mean whining about me leaving so I can get some sleep to jealousy because of the time and attention I give my job. Somehow, they all seem to miss the fact that even if the place is small, it’s a business, and it’s mine.

Tino seems to understand, and it blows my mind. He asks questions and digests the answers instead of trying to find a way to work around them. I don’t even know what to think. Saul was nothing like that. Of course, he also thought it was okay to take all the money I had in my account. I blow out a breath. I’m going to have to buckle down and find him. He may not realize it, but I need the money now more than ever. Along with one hell of an explanation.

*****

Bunny

My phone beeps, flashing a message from an unfamiliar number among the array of tomatoes.

My thumb hovers over the black banner as I try to identify the tiny image at the right.No, he didn’t… After a second of indecision, I open the message to find two rather skimpy-looking thongs against a familiar bedspread.

I press my lips together, shooting an angry gaze to the camera pointed in my general direction.

You’re going to scare customers with that expression.

Of course he’s watching. Despite my annoyance, a little thrill flutters behind my chest.

Ping. What color do you like?

I return to the screen, studying the items. Black and red in a simple, silky material you won’t find at a superstore. I let him see the curve at the corner of my lips as I reply to his message.White and green, with lace. I hit send as the bell above the door announces a customer.

“Hi, Miss Bonnie.” Junior, one of the few kids living at the edge of the commercial area, greets me with an expectant smile.

“How’re you doing?” I pocket my phone and head behind the counter to get his weekly haul.

“Good,” he says a little too quickly.

I do some quick math in my head, round up, and pull a ten-dollar bill from the register. For a kid living with an elderly grandfather on social security, the extra money from the Mexican gum packets comes in handy. The twelve-year-old has been an entrepreneur about as long as I have. And he’s probably more successful.

“How are you?” he asks. His gaze follows the bill in my hand as I walk back to him and hand it over.

---