“I beg your finest pardon.” Defensiveness buds in my chest, and I straighten my spine to sit taller. I’m not exactly petite at five foot five, but I’ve learned to exaggerate my height when I’m trying hard to get a point across. “That’s my machine.”
“Well, no. It’s mine. I reserved it.” His tone is extra curt as he slices his hand through the air in my direction. “I parked my cart in front of it to hold it while I went back to my car for my wallet.” His gaze scans the immediate surroundings until it lands onmy cartstill half-filled with laundry and my garbage bag. He effortlessly steps forward and taps his palm on the cart, saying in a commanding voice, “This is my cart. You took that too.” Hiseyes scan top to bottom before a disgusted sigh escapes out of his lips, and he grumbles, “Apparently, you put garbage in it.”
I suck in a giant inhalation, holding all my overwhelming emotions.
This guy is delusional.
The cart didn’t havehisname on it. It didn’t have anything to mark that it belonged to anybody. It was empty.
Like the washing machine, it was empty.
I run my palm over my hair, smoothing it down, hoping to calm the quibbles sparking in my gut. Can he not see how arrogant he’s being? You can’t walk into a business and claim something when it doesn’t have your money, your laundry or your name on it. He has about as much right to this washing machine as I have right to the Empire State Building. None. “There wasn’t any money or anything in it,” I spout back and shrug an exhausted shoulder.
Did I really care that much about a washing machine?
No.
On any other day, I’d walk away. Tonight is my one night to hang out with Bella. I’m wasting our time here because of stupid Chase. It’s not fair, and I want this chore done. Now. “Guess you’ll have to wait for the next one.”
His gaze drifts to the boy next to him, and they both execute a childish eye roll. Apparently, they are on the same mental maturity level. I turn my head away, refusing to give him a second glance.
Okay, maybe a little glance when he pivots. I have to double check how his jaw looked from this angle.
Seriously, nobody’s jaw is that perfect.
He must be pushing his chin out just to be annoying.
I overhear him tell the boy that they’ll leave to eat. I let out a quiet breath and return my attention to Bella, who’s staring atme intently. “What?” I ask, blinking several times to declare my innocence. “I didn’t take his machine. You saw it was empty.”
“That’s Rigsby Kane. A kid in my class.” She jerks her head toward the door, sending her ponytail flipping in that direction.
“Oh,” is all I manage. I vaguely remember the kid now that she’s mentioned it. I’ve seen his mom drop him off at school. I’m just so tired and disappointed about how this night is going. Even my lashes feel heavier than normal as I lock my gaze on Bella, leaning over my phone as she zones out on the movie she selected.
Maybe I was a little rude?
It wasn’t my fault.
Maybe he thought he had saved the machine, but again, he didn’t do it well enough. It wasn’t obvious.
Plus, I’ll never see them again.
Exhausted, I am mentally disengaged as Bella watches the movie. It’s almost over when her clothes are done drying. I rush to fold them and carefully put them back in the garbage bag, since I don’t have any other way to carry them. I’m slowly getting my sense of humor back. I know this because I let out a disgusted chuckle when I tie up the bag. It’s almost nine, and I’m completely bummed that we didn’t have any time to relax together at home. Trying to hide my disappointment, I once again force a smile. “Alright, clothes are clean. We can go.”
She stands up, but her gaze drops to the floor. She immediately bends over and reaches between the washing machines and pulls out something. “Look, it has the same logo that guy’s jacket had.” Pushing it forward, she lines the logo up with my gaze. “I bet it is his.”
“Maybe?” Tilting my head, I examine it. It’s a giant glove. She’s right. It’s an identical match to his jacket.
“We need to let him know we have it.” Her tone toggles between telling and asking. I should be proud she’s growing intosuch a responsible young lady, but it pings at my heart that she puts such worries on herself.
She inherited that from me.
Worrying. It’s my superpower.
I worry so much, I worry about my worrying.
“Uh, I don’t know about that.” I lift the bag out of the cart and slug it over my shoulder. My head is pounding from the longest day ever, and the last thing I want to do is run after someone who was careless enough to lose his stuff.
This glove, I will not worry about.
