He gave a harrumph in our direction and stalked off.
I glanced at Waylay, but either she hadn’t noticed the eye daggers or she was immune.
So much for southern hospitality. Though we were in Northern Virginia. Maybe they didn’t do the Southern hospitality thing here. Or maybe the man had just found out that his cat had a month to live. You never knew what people were going through behind the scenes.
Waylay and I worked our way around the store, and I noticed a similar reaction from a few other employees and patrons. When the woman behind the deli counter threw the pound of sliced turkey breast at me, I’d had enough.
I made sure Waylay was busy leaning over an open freezer of chicken nuggets. “Excuse me, I’m new here. Am I breaking some kind of store etiquette that results in hurled deli meats?”
“Ha. You ain’t fooling me, Tina Witt. Now, you gonna pay for that turkey or try to stuff it in your bra like last time?”
And there was my answer.
“I’m Naomi Witt. Tina’s sister and Waylay’s aunt. I can assure you I’ve never stuffed deli meat in my bra.”
“Bullshit.” She said it cupping a hand to her mouth like she was using a bullhorn. “You and that kid of yours are no good, shoplifting pains in the ass.”
My conflict resolution skills were limited to people-pleasing. Usually I would squeak out a terrified apology and then feel compelled to buy the offended party some kind of small, thoughtful gift. But today I was tired.
“Okay. You know what? I don’t think you’re supposed to talk to patrons like that,” I said.
I was going for firm and confident, but it came out tinged with hysteria. “And you know what else? Today I’ve been yelled at, robbed—twice—and turned into an inexperienced instaparent, and that was before lunch. I’ve slept about an hour in the last two days. And you don’t see me hurling deli meat around. All I ask from you is that you treat me and my niece with a modicum of respect as a paying customer. I don’t know you. I’ve never been here before. I’m sorry for whatever my sister did with her breasts and your meat. But I’d really like this turkey sliced thinner!”
I pushed the package back over the top of the cooler at her.
Her eyes were wide in that “not sure how to handle this unhinged customer” way.
“You’re not shittin’ me? You’re not Tina?”
“I am not shitting you.” Damn it. I should have gone for the coffee first.
“Aunt Naomi, I found the Pop-Tarts,” Waylay said, appearing with an armload of sugary breakfast treats.
“Great,” I said.
“So,” I said, sliding a strawberry kiwi smoothie in front of Waylay and taking the seat across from her. Justice, the man of my dreams, had made my afternoon latte in a mug the size of a soup bowl.
“So what?” Waylay asked sullenly. Her sneakered foot was kicking the pedestal leg of the table.
I wished I hadn’t run over my phone at the rest stop so I could search for “ways to break the ice with kids.”
“Uh, what have you been doing this summer?”
She looked me in the eyes for a long beat, then said, “What’s it to you?”
People with kids made it look easy to talk to them. I stuck my face in my bowl o’ latte and slurped, praying for inspiration.
“Thought you two ladies could use a little snack,” Justice said, sliding a plate of cookies onto the table. “Fresh out of the oven.”
Waylay’s blue eyes went wide as she took in the plate and then looked up into Justice’s face with suspicion.
“Thank you, Justice. That’s so sweet of you,” I said. I gave my niece a nudge.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Waylay said. She didn’t reach for a cookie but sat there staring at the plate.
This was an example I felt confident setting. I snatched up a peanut butter cookie and, between guzzles of my coffee, took a bite. “Ohmygod,” I managed. “Justice, I know we just met. But I’d be honored if you marry me.”
“She’s already got the wedding dress,” Waylay said.