Page 19 of All The Happily Ever Afters

I hated the way the parents and teachers all talked about him when we were younger, yet I find myself thinking he’s gotta be up to something.

Or maybe I’m just projecting my own actions onto his behavior. My blood cools at the thought, but I can’t focus on that right now.

I smile as I ring up the last two customers in the entire place. At least there aren’t any more kids in here yelling. I’ve taken so much Advil the past week that I should really consider buying stock in them.

I’m leaving soon though; this job isn’t forever. I just need to stay until Christmas. I have to. I need to be here and make sure everything goes the way it’s supposed to on Christmas Eve.

With the store finally empty, I go through the daily closing checklist and take a peek down one aisle. It’s a fucking disaster.

Cindy’s crouched down, picking up dolls off the floor and shoving them back into place on the shelf. “I bet it was that little brat,” she says under her breath when she sees me. I have to press my lips together and hide my grin. She’s had a really hard day and given the fact that she only stayed on later because the manager ducked out early, I can see why she’s pissed.

“I can take these if you wanna line up aisle three?” I ask her. I know she prefers the larger toys. They’re mostly in boxes and easier to straighten out.

She sighs and looks up at me, shoving her blonde hair out of her face. “It doesn’t matter really. I’m just tired and ready to go home.” She looks fucking exhausted.

“Go ahead,” I say with a shrug, “I got this.” I don’t mind taking a little more work anyway.Besides, it’ll give me a chance to get things ready for Christmas Eve.The thought makes my skin prickle with nerves.

“You are a saint, Cary.” She rises slowly and stretches out before giving me an unexpected hug.

“Thank you,” she says and then doesn’t look back as she heads out the front doors to the parking lot. For this town, nine o’clock is late for any place to be open. But for the holiday season it’s worth it to be open another three hours on Sunday. At least that’s what Morose thinks, but he’s a liar, a thief, and an asshole. Judging by the lack of business, you can add dumbass to that list.

I have to straighten two more rows, all the while wondering if I’m going to be able to go through with my plan, and then I turn out the lights and lock the doors. I’ve been sick over this. I can’t stand it, and I want to make things right.

But I’m struggling with what I need to do. I’m not a criminal. And what I’m planning on doing is a crime. I run my hand overmy face, feeling torn and exhausted as I walk to the parking lot. It’s late, and the street lights are dim. My heels click on the pavement, and my keys rattle in my hand. I look at the ground as I carefully watch my step, avoiding the potholes in the parking lot that Jimmy Morose hasn't bothered to get fixed yet. The only sounds I hear are my heels, and I think I’m alone, but when I lift my head, I stop in my tracks.

Vinny.

He’s leaning against my car, his motorcycle parked behind him.

VINNY

Ican at least get her number, I think as I walk out of the store. Take her on a date. Maybe then I can convince her to quit. Or better yet, wear her out and make her pussy so sore she won’t be able to work on Christmas Eve.

The thought makes me smile as I take out my cell and text Toni. I let him know it’s all set for Christmas Eve and then sit on my bike watching the little boy across the parking lot say “please” over and over again to the mom who looks like she’s gonna snap any minute. She’s got a cart full of toys by her trunk, a little boy kicking the cart for enjoyment while begging for something, and the baby in her arms is throwing a fit.

Last-minute shopping doesn’t look like it’s treating her well.

“You need a hand with that?” I ask her, walking away from my bike and over to her minivan. The night air is crisp, and my boots smack against the pavement.

“Please,” she says as she looks up at me, but it doesn’t last long as her infant arches her back and lets out a shrill cry. “I thought they’d sleep,” she says with desperation cracking her voice. Poor mama. I feel bad for her as I reach in the cart and grab a few of the bags in each hand.

She opens the trunk and then the side door before placing her keys back in her purse. “My husband had to work late,” she starts explaining, as if she owes me that, but she doesn’t. I get it. Sometimes we do shit we wish we didn’t have to. “And he was supposed to do the shopping for his side of the family, and he never did.” She talks while plugging her little one into the carseat. I can faintly hear the clicking of the buckles.

The rustling from a plastic bag makes me look up, and I catch her little boy trying to grab one of the bags.

She shuts the door and comes around the rear of the van with her hands on her hips. “Jaxon!” she yells out. The little boy looks up with big wide eyes and his lips in a perfect “O.” He’s been caught red-handed. And he knows it. The look of fear is evident in his eyes and the entire thing makes me chuckle, but I turn away so he doesn’t think this is funny. Little rascal.

She snatches him out of the cart and moves to the other side of the van to put him in his carseat. He can’t be any older than three. He’s silent the entire time and looks stiff, like he knows he’s in trouble. At least he’s not throwing a fit.

I load the last few bags in and shut her trunk with a loud clunk and start rolling the cart back over a few parking spots to the cart corral to join the rest of them.

I look back over my shoulder as I hear the door close.

“Thank you,” the woman says with a look of sincerity.

“No problem,” I answer back, giving her a little wave as I shove the cart into the others.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, grabbing the keys from her purse and walking to the driver’s door, her boots smacking on the pavement. As she opens the door, I can hear her little girl wailing. I cringe out of instinct.

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