Page 2 of Snowflakes Over Starr's Fall
They stared at each other for a long moment, a face-off. Jenna kept his gaze and did her best to ignore the alarming flutters in her middle. So he was good-looking. There were plenty of good-looking guys who were jerks. She’d had intimate experience with one in particular.
Then he dropped his gaze and shook his head as he looked around the store once more. “I don’t feel like going all the way to Litchfield,” he told her, an edge entering his voice. “So I guess I’ll have to make do with whatever you’ve got in this place.”
Somehow the way he saidthis placemade her hackles rise again. He sounded so brutally dismissive. “Breakfast items are in the far aisle,” she informed him stiffly. “Let me know if you need help finding anything else.” She stocked orange juice in the admittedly small freezer section, but somehow she doubted this man wanted concentrate from a can, the kind you scooped out with a spoon and mixed with water. No doubt for him it was freshly squeezed from oranges flown in from Florida that very morning or nothing. Pressing her lips together, she turned back to the cash register and its receipts.
Jenna listened to his footsteps as he headed toward the far aisle, the weathered floorboards creaking under his boat shoes. He muttered something under his breath, and she thought she caught the wordunbelievable. It was followed by a snort of something like disgust, which made her tense up, but she told herself she was not going to descend to his level. She’d be perfectly civil when he came back with his cornflakes, or whatever subpar item he’d chosen, because he couldn’t have smoked salmon on his toasted sourdough. Good grief, the guy was practically a parody of the overprivileged city type, and of course he had no idea that he was. He’d be asking for avocadoes next, along with tomato juice and a celery stick for his Bloody Mary.
Jenna continued counting yesterday’s receipts, only realizing she had not kept any of the amounts in her head when the man returned and thumped a box of generic-brand cornflakes onto the counter with more effort than was needed.
“These expired two months ago,” he informed her flatly.
A flush rose to Jenna’s face—she tried hard to check everything she stocked was within date—and she glanced at the top of the box, April of that year clearly stamped on top. Oh, dear.
“I’m sorry about that,” she told him as politely as she could. “Did you see any other boxes that were in date?”
In reply, the man simply shrugged, and Jenna bit the inside of her cheek before continuing in the same solicitous tone, “Why don’t I go check that for you?”
She slipped out from behind the counter, conscious of the man’s silent stare on her retreating back—the purple patches on her butt feeling very noticeable all of a sudden—as she headed back to the breakfast section of the store. It only took one glance at the cereal boxes stacked on the shelves to realize he must have taken one from the very back of the shelf. Every other box she saw was in date.
What a jackass.
She took one of the in-date boxes and returned to the cash register, placing it on the counter with a little more force than necessary.
“There we are,” she announced. She discovered she could still sound sweet while gritting her teeth. “This one doesn’t expire until next year… just like all the other boxes on the shelf. You must have found the only one that was expired.” She flicked her gaze to his to find him eyeing her with something like a smirk. “How unlucky of you.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if you kept track of your stock,” he answered shortly. “Considering the size of this place, it shouldn’t be too hard.” Before Jenna could reply to that zinger, he nodded toward the receipts. “You don’t have a computer, I’m guessing? Or even a calculator in this place?”
There were those three words again—in this place. Like she was living in a hovel. “Actually, I do my adding up on an abacus,” Jenna returned dryly as she rang up his box of cereal. “And I scratch the numbers into a stone tablet. That will be two sixty-five.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the man returned as he handed over a platinum American Express card that had some heft to it; in fact, it wasn’t evenmadeof plastic, like any normal credit card. She took a not-so-secret pleasure in handing it straight back to him.
“I’m afraid I don’t take American Express.”
He let out a huff of disbelieving laughter, scowling at the same time. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I don’t know,” Jenna replied sweetly. “Why aren’t you?”
He shook his head slowly in seeming disbelief. “Do you treat all your customers this way?”
“Only the rude ones.” The words slipped out before Jenna could stop them. Okay, she needed to remember hewasa customer, no matter how obnoxious he seemed. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Sorry,” she managed grudgingly. “But you got my back right up with your—your snotty attitude about my store.” As far as apologies went, she realized, hers had pretty much sucked. “Do you have another credit card?”
Wordlessly, his mouth compressed, which somehow emphasized his lean cheekbones, he handed over another credit card.
“Are you here on vacation?” Jenna asked as she put the credit card through the machine, which was ancient and usually took several minutes, but most people in Starr’s Fall used cash. At least at her store, and the ones who used a card didn’t mind having a few minutes’ chitchat while their card was approved. It was practically a ritual.
Not this guy, apparently. He was still scowling as he replied in a clipped voice, “No. Not on vacation.”
“Visiting someone?” she asked, a little too hopefully.Please don’t let him be…
“Actually,” he informed her coolly, “I moved here a couple of days ago.”
For a second, Jenna couldn’t keep the horror from her face, and the man noticed. “That’s quite the welcome,” he remarked with a rasping, humorless chuckle. “And I thought countryfolk were meant to be friendly, helping each other out and all.”
“Maybe don’t buy into corny stereotypes,” she shot back, and he shook his head.
“There’s no pleasing you, is there? Well, don’t worry, it’s not like I’m going to try. You won’t catch me in this dump a second time. Litchfield it is.” He drew himself up as he finished, “Frankly, I’d travel all the way back to New York to avoid encountering such a… such a…” He paused, clearly at a loss, while Jenna stared at him, wondering what on earth he was going to say. “Such ashrewlike you again,” he finished, a little uncertainly, like he wasn’t sure he’d landed on the right word.
“Ashrew?” Jenna didn’t know whether to be outrageously offended or scornfully amused. “What are you, Shakespeare?” she asked, and he just blinked at her for a second before he remembered to glare.
