Page 4 of Western Waves
“Are you fucking joking?” he shot back, irritation dripping from his existence.
The poor cashier looked uncomfortable as she glanced toward the back of the shop as if hoping for someone to rescue her from the awkward situation. “Um, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m going to need you to—"
“I’ll pay you!” I cut in as I ignored the girl and looked at the man, pulling my wallet out of my purse. “How much for that scone?”
“Stop talking to me,” he said, bending down to pick up his card. He went to hand it to the cashier, and I hit it out of his grip once more. His voice lowered to an annoyed snarl, and I felt the heat of his rage hitting my skin as I took a step backward. “Listen, lady,” he growled.
“No, you listen. I need that blueberry scone. I called dibs!”
“You can’t call dibs,” the cashier said.
“Stay out of this, Julie!” I snapped at her. Then I leaned in and whispered, “I’m sorry, that was harsh. I apologize for my tone. I’m not a yeller, I swear. I’m just—”
“Very unwell,” the man muttered.
I frowned. “That’s rude.”
“Don’t care,” he replied.
“That’s fine. I don’t care that you don’t care. All that I care about is that scone.”
“Then you should’ve shown up earlier,” he shot back.
“I was going to, but I got stuck in traffic and—”
“And no one asked for your sob story.”
“You don’t understand. I—”
“Again. No one gives a shit,” he coldly stated, crouching to pick up his card once more.
“He’s right. You’re holding up the line!” a stranger shot out from the ever-growing queue behind me.
I turned to the person and said, “This is a private situation I am having with—”
“Herself,” the coldhearted man said after paying for his blueberry scone that was meant to be mine. He picked up his coffee and scone and headed toward the exit.
My chest felt as if it had been set on fire as I watched the final blueberry scone walk out of the building. Was this what Romeo felt like after losing his Juliet? I now understood how he felt when he said, “Here’s to my love! O true apothecary. Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.”
What I wouldn’t give to kiss that dang scone with my lips.
I would’ve liked to say that was my last interaction with said man, but no. I was far too unstable to allow it to end right there. Like the unhinged individual I was becoming at that moment, I chased the stranger out of the store and shouted, “Hey! Hey! Wait up!”
He looked over his shoulder at me, and I saw the annoyance that shot across his face. He turned forward and kept walking, forcing me to break out into a slightly awkward jog. How tall was that guy? His single strides were double the length of my awkward run.
“Excuse me!” I hollered as he opened the back door to his car—a very pricy-looking vehicle with his driver sitting in the front. Before the door fully opened, I hopped in front of it. “Excuse me, hi. I was actually calling after you.”
“I don’t have time for California weirdness, lady.”
Oh, so you’re not a California native. Obviously, Mr. Accent.
I smiled that “you can’t help but love me” smile. “My name’s Stella.”
“Didn’t ask.”
Okay, perhaps he could help but love me, but alas.
I wanted to continue my crazy mode, but I shifted gears into trying to come off as more approachable since I still needed that freaking scone. “Yes, but I figured it would be easier if we were on a first-name basis. Then it would make this interaction more personal.”