Page 35 of Mountain Grump
I could smooth out the crumpled ticket that’s still in my pocket and give it to her.
The corner of my mouth twitches as I think about her trying to insult me.
Admit your butthole looks like an asshole.
I shake my head as the smile takes over my features.
Who even says that?
What does that even mean?
Shoving my door open, I finally exit my truck.
And as I walk to my front door, I wonder what Tilda will have for dinner tonight.
Chapter 20
Tilda
No one looksat me funny.
No one whispers behind their hands while watching me.
No one pays me any special attention as I push my cart through the aisles of the grocery store.
I don’t know why I was so stressed. I just figured, in a small town, everyone would know everyone, and I would stand out as an outsider.
But no.
I’m not even the only person here with hair dyed a color from the rainbow. I saw a guy in the produce section with a blue mohawk.
My shoulders relax, and I slow to a stop as I enter the bakery section.
My cart is barely half full. Partially from feeling overwhelmed, partially from not knowing what to get.
Back in Nevada, I mostly ate takeout and frozen burritos. Takeout isn’t really a daily option anymore. I may not have anything better to do than drive the thirty-seven minutes to town, but I also can’t be blowing my money on excessive gas use. And considering that pickup is as old as I am—or older, I haveno idea—I doubt she’s getting good gas mileage. So… I need to shop wisely.
I look at the apples and blueberries in my cart. The ramen. The boxes of mac and cheese. The case of ginger ale. The loaf of bread I’ll keep in the freezer. The peanut butter and blueberry jam.
Heat builds in my cheeks.
I’m turning thirty soon, and I’ll be the first to admit that I am not a good cook.
Maybe I could be. One day. And I’d like to learn how to bake bread…
But I need to research recipes before I just start grabbing stuff.
I lean forward, about to push my cart toward the cookie display, when a tiny girl bolts in front of me.
My spine curls as I hunch forward, absorbing my momentum before the wheels can move.
“Sorry,” someone with a deep voice says from beside me, surprising me even more than the child did.
Thankfully the air is already stuck in my lungs, so I don’t scream the way I probably would have otherwise.
Small mercies.
The extremely handsome man dips his chin at me as he strides past.
