“Mine isn’t so bad either,” she murmurs as she scans the guy’s items.
I’m surprised the cart handle hasn’t cracked from how tightly my knuckles are gripping it. It’s impossible to stop the visceral reaction that hits me as I watch her swoon over an out-of-towner who looks nothing like a real cowboy—crisp jeans and boots so shiny they might as well be props for a photo shoot.What a tool.
Birdie doesn’t appear to share the same sentiment, sneaking glances at him while she rings up his things. When she presses the jacket’s security tag into the magnetic detacher, she struggles to get it loose, grunting softly as she pushes harder until it finally pops free.
The guy flashes her an easy grin. “You’ve got a real talent for that.”
I swallow hard, exhaling through my nose as I fight to keep my cool. He’s clearly into Birdie, and I’d rather shove a hot poker into my brain than watch him ask her out. If miracles exist, now would be a hell of a time for one to intervene. I’d take a power outage, a spilled pallet of feed, or even a moose charging through the front window—I’m flexible as long as it puts a stop to this nauseating spectacle unfolding before my eyes.
“Thanks, I’m really good with my hands,” Birdie replies as she folds the flannel. “The secret is applying the right amount of pressure. I’ve had a lot of practice…” Color rises to her cheeks. “With removing security tags,” she quickly adds.
I might hate that she’s flirting with someone else, but her nervous little stumble and the way she tries to correct herself are ridiculously adorable.
The guy gives her a tentative smile. “Uh… right. Makes sense.”
Birdie gives a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “Anyway. Flannel, huh?”
I shift uncomfortably as silence stretches between them, the conversation suddenly teetering toward awkwardness.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
“Great choice. It’s all the rage right now. Even Nugget, my house chicken, is a fan,” Birdie says as she puts the jacket and wrench into a paper bag. “She claimed my favorite flannel shirt to nest in and totally lost it when I tried to move her after she pooped on it. It’s nothing soap and water can’t fix, though.” Birdie’s face pales when the guy visibly recoils at her suggestion. “Totally kidding. I’m never wearing that thing again. Rest in peace, flannel.”
The guy’s gaze drifts to the exit as he takes out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
It’s obvious he’s eager to cut their conversation short, and honestly? I don’t blame him. Even from here, their exchange has been excruciating to witness.
It’s no secret that Birdie gets nervous under pressure, and I can only imagine how unsettling it must be to go from a guy giving her googly eyes to one searching for an escape route in less than a minute. Ialmostregret wishing for that miracle, but it’s his loss for not seeing what was right in front of him.
Birdie reads off the total, and he swipes his card. While she waits for him to go through the prompts on the keypad, she nudges the bag of items toward him. Her fingers fidget with the gold necklace at her throat, a nervous tell I’ve noticed. As soon as the receipt prints, she rips it from the machine, but in her hurry, she knocks over a wire cup of pens, sending them clattering across the counter and the receipt floating to the ground.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammers, scrambling for the pens before they fall to the floor.
“No worries. I actually don’t need a receipt.” The guy takes his bag and heads straight for the exit.
“Oh… okay. Have a nice day,” she calls after him, her tone half-hearted.
Once the guy is out of sight, Birdie buries her face in her hands. “Why do you always have to make things so awkward?” she mutters under her breath.
Not about to stand by and let her blame herself, I roll my cart to the register, gathering up the remaining pens that rolled out of her reach. “Why the long face, sweetheart?”
She startles at my voice, slowly lowering her hands and fixing me with a withering stare. “What are you doing here, Walker? Did you come looking for more blackmail material?” She glances around before dropping her voice to a whisper. “Isn’t the mugshot enough?”
I frown at her response. Normally, she’d have a sarcastic retort, but her usual spark is nowhere to be found.
“I’m actually off-duty for blackmailing activities today,” I tease, leaning over the counter and dropping the pens back in the cup. “Just a friend checking in to see how his favorite troublemaker’s doing and stocking up on supplies.”
Because friends stalking friends at work is totally normal behavior.
Birdie’s eyes flicker discreetly around the store. “If I tell you what’s bothering me, promise you won’t judge?”
I nod. “Cross my heart.”
She moves forward, resting her elbows on the counter. “Pretty sure the guy ahead of you was flirting with me, and I totally botched it,” she confesses in a whisper.
“Thatwas your attempt at flirting?” I taunt playfully, raising a brow.
She playfully jabs my arm. “No judging, remember?”
