But I really needed this job, so instead of saying any of the fifty words that rushed to my tongue begging to be let out, I just scanned the case and reached for one of the six huge bottles of smart water she’d put on my belt.

Mean Girl did not seem to mind that I didn’t take the bait.

She kept fishing.

“You aren’t the first one he’s got all wound up about him,” she shared. “And don’t take all that Gamble Guy goodness for granted, you know, like thinking he cares enough to get in a huge fight with you on the street about whatever. Tobias giveth, and then without a thought, Tobias taketh away.”

I was about to say something to her, like, “Did you know we have a new line of frozen yogurt?” (when we did not, but I wanted to make her go look) when I heard, “No, that’s just you, Jocelyn.”

This came from down my belt.

I looked there to see next in line was an attractive woman around Jocelyn’s (and my) age who I’d also checked out dozens of times in the last months, and she did buy ice cream, so I knew she was my people even if she hadn’t been nice to me (which she always was).

Jocelyn turned to the woman and the gleeful, I’mma-gonna-fuck-with-you mean girl morphed into the bitchy, I-don’t-have-time-for-your-shit-when-you’re-fucking-with-me-fucking-with-somebody mean girl took her place.

“You aren’t in this conversation, Lorraine,” she snapped.

“Neither is this poor woman who you decided to aim your venom at this Saturday night, during which, I’ll point out, you’re grocery shopping and not out on a date, so you’re in a crappy mood. Put the fangs away,” Lorraine retorted.

I scanned some zero-sugar granola that cost more than a car (exaggeration).

“What I do with my Saturday nights is none of your business,” Jocelyn hissed.

“And what’s going on with Toby Gamble and your checkout person is none of yours. Keep your trap shut, pay for your groceries and move along,” Lorraine bit back.

I scanned some pretzels and a bag of chips made of lentils that probably tasted like dung and totally forgot my feet hurt, my back kinda hurt too, and I did this since it took all my attention to press my lips together in an effort to fight smiling.

“You’ve always been nosy. Careful, Lorraine, you’re gonna put that nose somewhere it isn’t welcome one day and get it bitten off,” Jocelyn warned.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Lorraine replied airily. “What I know is, being how you are meant Toby Gamble scraped you off. Everyone in Matlock knows he’s got the patience of a gnat with women who aren’t worth it. Now others who don’t act like trash by treating people like trash,” Lorraine’s eyes slid to me before going back to Jocelyn, “well, they seem to be in it for the long haul.”

Hmm . . .

This might explain why this Jocelyn chick was always such a bitch to me.

“Not sure that haul is gonna be that long, he’s shouting at her on the street,” Jocelyn returned.

“He ever care enough in the nanosecond you two were together to fight with you about anything?” Lorraine drawled.

It was too hard.

I couldn’t fight it.

I made an abbreviated snort sound.

Jocelyn turned her head and glared at me.

“That’ll be eighty-nine, twenty-four,” I informed her.

She bent her head to dig out her wallet, which also had some designer logo stamped obtrusively all over it, pulled it out, unsnapped it, and as she was shoving her credit card in the machine she said cattily, “Nice smock.”

Lame.

“Do you have a Matlock Mart card?” I asked. “You might have some savings. I believe the St. Croix is on sale if you have a Matlock Mart card.”

“I don’t need to pay for my St. Croix on sale,” she retorted.

Well, that was just stupid.

I finished her up, tore off the register tape, folded it carefully and offered it to her saying cheerfully, “Enjoy your evening and thank you for shopping at the Mart.”

She snatched the receipt from me, put her hands to the cart my bagger had filled with her stuff, looked into the distance like I didn’t exist (nor my bagger) and strutted off.

I turned to Lorraine.

“Don’t mind her,” Lorraine said the second I caught her gaze. “She’s even nasty to her grandma, and her grandma runs the local orphanage.”

I felt my eyes get big. “Really?”

Lorraine started laughing. “No. Her grandmother is as mean as a snake. So is her mother. It runs in the family.”

“Right,” I muttered, not surprised, taking the divider off the belt and shoving it down the side.

“I’m Lora, by the way,” she introduced herself. “Jocelyn only calls me Lorraine because she knows I hate it. Though it was my grandmother’s name, and I loved her. Just not real hip on her name seeing as it makes me sound like I’m a waitress at a truck stop in Texas.”

I scanned but looked at her with a smile on my face. “Nice to meet you. And FYI, I think Lorraine is an awesome name. Old-fashioned cool. I’m Addie.”

“Yeah,” she started quietly. “I can imagine you know that everyone in town knows who you are and why. But I’ll just say, it cannot be described how sorry I am why we know.”

My smile faded, and I turned my attention back to scanning.

“I’m sorry, Addie. I was just trying to be real. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Being real is good,” I murmured, scanning a double loaf package of frozen garlic bread (totally my people). “And my son was kidnapped. It happened. He’s safe with his family now, so it isn’t a big deal.”

It was totally a big deal and we both knew it.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Yep.

We both knew it.

I kept scanning.

“She dated him for like, a hot minute,” Lora told me.

“I was guessing that,” I replied, still scanning.

“And she’s jealous like crazy of you because she wished Toby Gamble would fight in the street with her,” she continued.

“It wasn’t as fun as it sounds,” I muttered. And it absolutely was not. “And she’s off the mark. He’s my sister’s fiancé’s brother. We’re just family,” I carried on.

“Hun, I’m sorry. I’m single. Allow me to live vicariously through you.”

With her saying this, I looked at her after scanning some yogurt.

“And I’ll tell you what,” she declared. “I’ve had about five thousand Toby-Gamble-yelling-at-me-in-the-street fantasies since I heard that went down, and I cannot say which part I focus more on with each one. His behind. Or his beard.”

I couldn’t see his ass during our fight or I probably would have been right there with her.

“And here’s a genuine warning from a girl takin’ her girl’s back,” she continued. “About every female in Matlock has had the same, married or not, from ages of about eight to eighty. So if your line is clogged with women having a go at you, it’s just because we all wish we were you.”

I felt my lips quirk and shared, “Honestly, it really wasn’t that fun.”

She leaned across the check-writing desk toward me. “Is he hot when he’s angry?”