“Go ahead. Call him. He doesn’t care.”
“He will.”
After Nate tells the kids to “go get in the car,” I ring up the sale of the angel and watch Carla extract a credit card from her purse. I glance at the name embossed on her credit card: Carla Archer. Running it through the machine, it makes a sound I hate to hear. Declined. “Um.” I look at her, then up at Nate.
“Fuck.” He hisses as he pulls out his wallet. “Here.”
He hands me a platinum credit card. I glance at the name: Nathan D. Visch. “Visch.” I’m not sure why I say his name aloud, but I do, and when I look up at him, he’s glaring at me, his thick brow arched. I quickly run it through the credit card machine. There are no issues with his card, so I print out a receipt and watch him sign.
After I hand him his receipt, he shoves it into his front pocket. “You don’t have kids, I take it?”
I’m not sure why he’s asking, but I respond with, “No. I don’t have any children.”
“Word of advice.”
“Okay.” I’m not going to like this. Not one iota.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“Don’t have kids.”
I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I’m idiot enough to want to see. “Why not?”
“Because you’d suck at parenting.”
Nohe didn’t. “Excuse me?” My voice cracks, and I wish it hadn’t. Sure, I should stop, but now that he’s got my hackles up… “Why would you say such a thing?”
“You wouldn’t be able to handle kids.”
“You know nothing about me.” You pompous ass.
“Don’t need to. I saw how you handled those three.” He thumbed in the direction of the door. The one Carla made a beeline for as soon as Nate’s credit card went through. “You’re too soft.”
His words haven’t hit home. I’ve got to think about this for a second.
Except he doesn’t let me, unfortunately for him. “You let them run all over you.” Then, in a high-pitched, mimicking voice he adds, “Don’t do that. Stop doing that.”
I blink. A lot. Because I can’t with this guy. Sure, I could explain that, yes, I’m a nice person, and that generally, no, I don’t like to yell at children. I could also tell him that I work in retail, and treating customers poorly is a big no-no, but I don’t. Instead, I decide to turn my ire onto him.
“Who in the heck do you think you are?” I walk around the counter and approach him slowly. “You have no right to criticize me, you big jerk. I heard you tell Carla you’re tired of getting calls about those-those…” I want to say heathens, but I don’t. “…children. I’m not the only one who’s had to deal with them. This isn’t my store. Even if it were, I wouldn’t handle customers that way. Word would get around town that our customer service is lacking.” I’m getting off track. I’m still walking toward him. When I get right in front of him, I use my finger and jab him in the chest, not too hard but enough that he’ll get that I’m serious. “You need to mind yourself, dude.”
“Dude?” he chuckles.
“Yeah.Dude. I did the best I could under the circumstances.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“As for saying I’d be a terrible mother…?”
“Yeah?”
I jab him again. “Fluck.” And one more for good measure. “You.”
And with that, the jerk throws his head back and laughs. A deep one that’s coming from his gut.
I don’t stand around to hear what he’s gonna say next. Instead, I stomp past him toward Laura’s side of the shop. She’s there, leaning against the wall at the archway between the two sides, arms crossed.
