Page 20 of Love Harvested on Thanksgiving
“What can I do for you? Do you need something?” She asks, her voice gentle.
Even like this, clearly in distress, she’s kind to me. Still trying to accommodate me. And that does something I don’t like. My chest aches.
I shift on my feet rubbing the back of my neck. I don’t want to ask if she’s okay, don’t want to make it worse or pry where I’m not wanted. I don’t even know what the right thing to say is.
“I just came to grab a few things before the storm hits,” I mumble. “But it’s okay. I can figure something else out.”
She shakes her head, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “It’s fine, Finley. Go ahead and grab whatever you need.”
I nod, throat tight, and reach for a cart.
I head straight for the bakery. The shelves are already half-empty—just a few loaves of bread left, a couple boxes of donuts. I take both.
On my way to the snack aisle, I glance over my shoulder. Alex is still behind the counter, scribbling on a clipboard. Her shoulders slump like there’s an invisible weight sitting on them. Every time I look at her, my chest tightens a little more.
I keep moving. Chips. Pretzels—the honey mustard kind. A case of water. A few twelve-packs of soda. Soup cans, milk, and some lunch meat. And batteries.
By the time I pull up to the counter, Alex looks like she’s finished up and ready to go.
I set the groceries down on the counter and there’s a pause before she starts scanning the items. The beeps from the scanner are the only sound between us. And damn if it doesn’t make me wish I knew how to ask what’s wrong without making her uncomfortable.
I wouldn’t want anyone prying in my business.
I’m just sliding my card when the TV in the corner of the café blares an alarm. A curfew has been issued. The Governor has issued a state of emergency.
What the hell has happened in the last thirty minutes I’ve been in here? “What the hell is going on out there?” I mutter under my breath.
Alex’s eyes meet mine, wide, a flicker of panic crossing her face.
Then the power starts to flicker.
“Oh no,” she whispers.
And just like that, the lights die. The store plunges into darkness, only the emergency exit signs glowing faintly red. I hear her whimper quietly.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I glance at her. “Do you have a generator?” It’s a grocery store; there has to be a generator.
She hesitates, sheepishly. “Yes… but I don’t know how to use it.”
I frown, running a hand down my face. “It should have an automatic transfer switch. Should kick on. Probably just powers the fridges and coolers, though. Do you know where it is?”
She winces and shakes her head.
I grit my teeth. “Alright. I’ll check out back.”
She hesitates for a second then digs under the counter and hands me a flashlight. “Here.”
I take it and start toward the back door. My mind’s already racing—what’s happening out there, how long this is gonna last, and keeping track of Alex, standing there in the dark.
As I walk through the store, I catch the flicker of lights in the coolers as they hum to life.
Perfect. The generator kicked on. Looks like I don’t need to trudge out back in this mess.
I make my way to the front doors and peer through the glass. The world outside is a blur. Tree limbs whip past in a wall of snowflakes, slamming against the windows with every gust of wind.
The storm’s coming in harder than I expected. Fast.
I glance back at Alex. She’s still behind the counter, lighting a candle.
