“Um, brown?”
He shakes his head, eyes tracking down to my shoulders almost like he wants to reach out and wrap a few strands around his finger. “Nah, I think I see some red in there.” I just stand there frozen, unsure how to respond to this boy studying the colors in my hair. But then he says, “That’s probably why you’re so feisty.”
“Don’t stereotype me,” I admonish.
“Where’s the lie?” he asks.
Seriously, who is this guy? Why is he here? “So did one of your parents get a new job or something?”
He pauses for a second, then reaches into the box for a new orange. His hands are so big, he grabs two in one go. “I think my mom just wanted a change of scenery.”
“What about your dad?”
His expression shutters. Should I not have said that? I shouldn’t have assumed he had a mom and a dad. Maybe he has two moms. Come on, Amelia.
“My dad’s dead.”
My lungs tighten in a regretful exhale. “Oh God.” I wish the linoleum would open up and swallow me whole. “I—I’m sorry.”
He rubs at his neck, and his thumb rolls across the necklace circling his collar. “Yeah, thanks.” He clears his throat and says, “So since your dad’s the boss and you used to work here, you must know all the other tips and tricks. Care to help out the new guy?”
I pivot with him away from the subject of his father and pointedly look at the bright display we’re building. “What do you think I’m doing right now? My dad would have made you redo the shoddy workmanship I walked up to, that’s for sure.”
He puts his hand to his chest. “And I’m grateful you turned me onto the right path. What else have you got?”
I stop stacking and think, tapping my chin. Do I like him enough to tell him how to get chips out of the break room vending machine without putting money in, or that if you ask baker Sandy about her grandkids, she’ll slip you free cookies? “Don’t belate. My dad can’t stand tardiness. If you’re the type that likes extra shifts, Gia’s always willing to give some up. And avoid getting assigned to checkout lane three at all costs. The register’s glitchy.”
He nods, brows rising more with each tip as if he didn’t actually expect me to help him out. “Be on time. Make friends with Gia. No lane three. Got it.”
We fall quiet and work side by side for a few minutes in silence, which feels oddly comfortable. We both go for an orange at the same time, and his forearm brushes mine. His eyes cut to my face, and that look plus the warm, smooth feeling of his skin flusters me. I scoot to the other side of the display to finish up.
We’re getting to the bottom of the box, and I should probably go find my dad soon. I came to distract myself with inventory, not talk to the new guy in town.
But instead of walking away, I zone in on the single earbud still tucked into his opposite ear. “What are you listening to?”
A delighted smile spreads across his face, and it catches me completely off guard. Maybe because it’s so open and real, like he’s handing over the keys to something important because he’s already decided he trusts me. “Evergreen.”
“Never heard of them.” This bothers me, a lot. I’m usually the one introducing everyone else to underrated artists.
“Think, like,… X Ambassadors but stripped down.”
I shrug as if he’s not speaking directly to my soul right now. He may have decided he trusts me, but I’m not yet convinced I should reciprocate.
“The first time I heard their song ‘Black Ice,’ it felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me.”
God, I’maddictedto that feeling. But I just say, “That’s weird,” because he makes me want to be contrary.
He cocks his head. “Not into music?”
I just shrug—a nonanswer.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you a playlist.” He says it like it’s some grand honor he’s bestowing on me.
I shake his hand off. That’smything.Imake playlists.
“No thanks.”
Gregory digs the second earbud out of his pocket. “We’ll see.” He winks and puts it back in.
