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I should call him on it. Should point out that this is exactly the kind of meaningless errand prospects are supposed to complain about, that sending me to the store twice in one week is transparent as hell.

Instead, I seize the opportunity and take the keys.

The supermarket is quiet mid-afternoon. Half-empty aisles, muted conversations near the deli counter, the hum of refrigeration units providing white noise that almost sounds peaceful.

I grab a cart I don't need and wander through produce, trying to figure out what I'm actually doing here.

Paige is working register three. I can see her from where I'm pretending to examine apples. She's scanning groceries for an elderly man who's telling her a rambling story about his grandson. She's listening. Actually listening, not just waiting for him to finish.

When he finally leaves, she stretches her neck, and I see her wince. Just slightly. Just enough. I put down the apple I've been holding for five minutes and head toward the registers.

She sees me coming.

"Forget something?" she asks as I approach.

"Friends love coffee." I set the nearly empty cart down.

"Big household?"

"Something like that."

She scans the bag.

"Thirty-one fifty."

I hand her two twenties. This time when she gives me change, I let the bills sit in my palm instead of taking them immediately.

"You okay?" I ask.

Her hand freezes halfway back to the register. Her eyes snap up to mine: sharp, defensive, already building walls.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You winced. Stretching your neck."

"Slept wrong," she says immediately. Too immediately. "Old mattress. You know how it is."

I don't push. Don't mention the bruising I saw last time, don't ask follow-up questions, don't do any of the things that would make her shut down completely.

Just nod and take my change.

"Hope the mattress improves," I tell her.

She blinks. Some of the defensiveness softens. "Yeah. Me too."

I leave before she can rebuild the walls higher.

After that, I start coming to the supermarket twice a week.

Sometimes Phoenix actually needs supplies. Sometimes Brick mentions we're low on something and I volunteer before anyone else can. Sometimes I just go, and nobody questions it because prospect work is prospect work. If I want to spend my free time running unnecessary errands, that's my business.

Paige is always there. Different shifts, different registers, but always there.

I learn her patterns without meaning to. Learn that she works Tuesdays and Thursdays until close, that she picks up weekend shifts when other cashiers call out, that she's faster than anyone else on the lanes and customers actually wait longer for her.

Learn that she's sharp with people who deserve it and gentle with people who need it.

Learn that she wears long sleeves even when it's warm, that she moves her left shoulder slowly like something there hurts, that there's a dimple on only one side of her face when she smiles at elderly customers telling her rambling stories.