Isaac immediately turned his attention toward them, crossing his arms, waiting to hear what meltdown Mr. Pike was going to have this time.
“Daniel.” The corporate tone struck like a parent using your full name, and suddenly half the store was staring at him like they were rubbernecking a car crash. “We need to talk.”
A phrase capable of sending cold dread down anyone’s spine. “We do?”
“This is a workplace, not a punk rock show.” His gaze dragged over Danny in open disdain. “Company policy, Daniel. You represent the store, and we expect professionalism. Not…this.” He gestured at Danny’s hands, as if the black nails might sprout bat wings and start attacking people.
The prick was having a bad day and decided his anger needed a victim. Normally Danny’s aesthetics weren’t an issue, but today, the color of nails was a company embarrassment.
A woman with a toddler in her cart was outright staring at him like he had a moral failing. The old guy by the bread display backing her up like it was jury duty. Heat crept along Danny’s face, scorching the tips of his ears.
The spotlight had always made him uneasy. He’d never liked becoming a focal point, especially if humiliation was involved. So much for company professionalism. Mr. Pike wouldn’t know what integrity was even if it slapped him on his bald head.
“Got it, sir.” Danny shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw clenching.
“You’ll adhere to policy before your next shift, or we’ll have a conversation about your future employment here.” Mr. Pike marched off, already eyeing another employee who was texting behind the customer service counter then disappeared around the corner leading to his office.
Snatching a pack of disinfectant wipes stashed beneath his register, Danny scrubbed at his nails like the paint was a stain on his worth, but the polish gleamed defiantly against the chemical assault. For a moment he just stared at his fingers, chest tight with anger. How could something as harmless as nail polish matter so much to people like Mr. Pike and Brad and everyone else who’d ever tried making him invisible. He wiped his hands on a paper towel then threw everything into the trash tucked under the conveyor belt.
Isaac appeared at his side, staring after Mr. Pike with contempt. “You want me to grab a shovel from the home goods aisle?” His gaze swung to Danny. “We just need to come up with an airtight alibi. We could pin it on the pharmacist. Call it a gift to his wife.”
There were times when Danny wasn’t sure if Isaac was joking or serious. He was loud, feisty, and loyal to a fault. But something dark peeked out from behind those amethyst eyes every now and again.
This was one of those times.
“I’m taking my break.” Translation, I’m going to go scream into a walk-in freezer before I start constructing an alibi.
“Go catch your breath.” Isaac rubbed Danny’s back in a slow, circular motion. “Take as much time as you need.”
What Danny needed was for everyone to stop staring at him like he was some kind of circus freak. Turning on his heel, he headed toward the back, past the dairy coolers and their constant hum, past the smell of cardboard and overripe bananas from the stockroom. His eyes stung with tears, and a burning lump formed in his throat. You will not cry in the fucking dairy aisle. You better hold it in until—
“Hey.”
Danny came to a hard stop, like someone had yanked an emergency brake inside him.
Oh no.
Mountain Man stood two feet away, and up close, he was somehow worse. Better. Worse. Eyes the color of whiskey in lamplight. And he smelled… God, he smelled like woodsmoke and pine and something darker, earthier, like sin had a cologne line and this lumberjack was the spokesman.
Get a grip.
“Sorry to bother you.” The deep timbre in his voice held Danny’s attention hostage. “But I’ve been wandering around for ten minutes trying to find the steak that’s on sale. The signs in this place are basically useless.”
Say words. Any words. You work here. This is literally your job.
“I—it’s—the meat section is—” Danny gestured in every direction like his hand was possessed. Smooth. Real smooth. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “There’s a cooler display at the end of aisle seven. Just past the cases of soda stacked like drunk toddlers works here.”
The stranger just stared at him, those amber eyes radiating a quiet kind of patience. Like Danny was worth every second of his time.
“I walked past that display several times, trying to figure out—” Tilting his head back slightly, he scented the air. Curious, Danny did the same, but all he smelled were those overripe bananas. Yet, the stranger’s eyes darkened, his focus sharpening for some reason.
“Aisle seven,” he repeated, that deep voice impossibly lower, even huskier now. “Got it. Don’t suppose you have a Marauder’s Map? Might help with navigation.”
“You could check automotive in aisle 12.” Danny flapped his hand over his shoulder like he was shooing away a fly. “Though I doubt we stock any kind of boat equipment.”
“Marauder’s Map.” His crooked grin nudged gently at something deep inside Danny. “Harry Potter? Shows you where everything is? Well, technically it shows you where a person is, but it would still be cool to have one that actually worked.”
“Sorry.” Danny shrugged, mesmerized by the spark of mischief that held his attention more than it should. “Never saw the movies.”
