Thankfully, she didn’t say anything, but went back to ringing up and bagging the last few items he’d bought. He pulled out his wallet and waited for the total.
Tori came back, setting two cans of cream of chicken soup on the end of the counter. “I’m taking both so, with the cream of mushroom gone, there’s a big gap on the shelf now, Fran.”
The other woman shook her head. “I hate that. My order best come in soon. And now whoever keeps messing up my canned goods might be tempted to screw around again.”
“Somebody’s messing with your canned goods?” Max asked. What could one do to canned goods?
“I like the cans in alphabetical order. Somebody in this town likes them shelved by color. Color! Does that sound normal to you, Max?”
He couldn’t say he’d ever been asked to define normal before, but he had to agree with Fran to a point. His canned goods were shelved by type and then alphabetically from there. “I think you should shelve them however you like, since you own the store.”
“Damn straight.” She pointed a finger at Max, but turned her gaze to Tori. “Max here’s a good boy.”
While Fran made his change, Tori poked him in the side with her elbow. He looked down at her—realizing for the first time he was quite a bit taller than she was—and she gave him a questioning look. He just gave her a small smile, reverting to his man-of-mystery shtick.
“Here you go.” Fran counted back his change, giving his hand a little squeeze after that crumpled the paper bills. “You know, if there’s something you’d like to have that I don’t stock, you just let me know. I can probably order it. And you give your grandmother my best.”
“Thank you, Fran. I will.”
He stepped out into afternoon air that was quickly cooling and sat on the old wooden bench to wait for Tori.
*
“You should snap that man up.”
Tori looked toward the door, thankful it had already fully closed behind Max. “I’m not looking for a man right now.”
“A young, pretty girl like you?” Fran shook her head, taking the money Tori held out to her for the soup. “You could have any man you wanted.”
“If I wanted one.”
“I know you went out with that young man who tried to open the tanning salon down the road—as if anybody around here’s going to pay money for fake sun—so I know it’s not a matter of you liking men or not.”
“I’m just taking some time to work on me, Fran.”
The older woman frowned and handed Tori her change. “Did you read that in one of those shiny magazines with the supermodels on the cover?”
Tori just laughed and shrugged. “Maybe. I have to run, but I’ll see you later.”
Max was sitting on the bench outside the store, with his bags at his feet. She sat next to him, cans of soup on her lap, and leaned back. “Aren’t you the golden boy all of a sudden?”
“I asked her if she knew Gram. The more I come into town, the more I like it. I guess I should start being part of the community.”
“Have you gone to town hall yet?”
“No.”
“I practically wrote you a script, Max. You’re considering building a garage, though you haven’t decided yet, and you’d like to know what the fees are for a building permit so you can add those to the projected costs.”
“Why can’t I just ask if I can...get a fishing license or something? That’s simple.”
“Because everybody gets their fishing licenses at the General Store. And because you don’t fish. If she does, you’re screwed. It’s easy enough to think about building a garage, but then change your mind. And not many women want to talk about construction over dinner.”
“I need to put my groceries in the cooler.”
“You have a cooler?”
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Of course I have a cooler. It’s in the trunk. How else do you keep your perishables cold until you can put them in the fridge?”
“I leave that errand for last, but I’m not usually procrastinating about asking somebody out to dinner.”
She got up and followed him to his car. He popped the trunk, then carefully packed his milk and cheese in the cooler with multiple ice packs. Then she laughed at the look he gave her when she tossed her cans of soup in next to the cooler.
“I’m going to walk with you. I’m not going into town hall, but I’ll hold your hand to the front door.” When he arched his eyebrow at her, she rolled her eyes. “Not literally.”
He slammed the trunk lid. “I feel ridiculous.”
“It’s nerve-racking, asking somebody out on a date. But I feel like if I don’t push you, you’re going to chicken out and then you’re going to give up and go hide in your basement some more.”
They followed the sidewalk around the town square, moving at about half of Tori’s regular pace, and it was hard not to hold his hand in the literal sense. The poor guy was so nervous.
“It’s childish to make up a story to talk to a woman.”