“What’s it like being a cashier?” he redirects, either too distracted by traffic or unwilling to talk about himself. Most likely, it’s the latter.

“I’m not a cashier.” I wince at the rough road, suddenly jiggling my guts like cranberry sauce during an earthquake. “I’m the customer service manager, the youngest Sunny’s has ever had, and I absolutely love my job.”

He smirks, cutting a glance at me like I’ve told a joke. “Seriously?”

“As serious as a stab wound,” I giggle weakly, but he’s not amused. “Don’t you love yours?”

His broad shoulders shrug. “I like the animals well enough. Could do without the people.”

I laugh. “Somehow, I thought you’d say something like that. My job is people. Hiring them. Scheduling them. Making sure the front end runs smoothly so customers feel welcome and can get in and out. And handling all customer needs⁠—”

“Sounds horrible,” he breathes, looking anxious as he drives well below the posted speed limit.

“I love making customers feel like family at Sunny’s. Not everyone has a family, you know?”

“I’ve never felt like family in Sunny’s.”

I give him a curious stare. “How do you feel there?”

He groans, his knuckles twisting on the wheel. “Like a victim, assaulted by pretentiousness and high prices.”

“Oomph, you’re one tough cookie, Tripp Grady Tripp.”

“A box of mac-n-cheese shouldn’t cost five bucks, and no one in Seagrove needs a ten-dollar box of macaroons or a fifty-dollar jar of saffron.”

“It’s organic mac-n-cheese. Some people buy those items all the time. What’s wrong with a grocery store with pizazz?”

“Right, pizazz that pads the Sullivans’ pockets. It’s a tourist trap that pretends to be a grocery store. No locals would shop there if the nearest Food Lion weren’t twenty miles away.”

I nod. “Being the only game in town does work to Sunny’s advantage. But it’s a happy place that people enjoy, too. Most people.”

“If you say so.”

Another laugh escapes me. “You’re what I call a customer service challenge, but one I welcome. I almost won you over. Don’t you remember?”

His brow pinches until a light flickers in his memory. “Shit, right. I remember.”

I smile. “Tell the truth. You still have your complimentary Sunny’s keychain, don’t you?”

He groans. “Only because the sun is a bottle opener.”

I laugh. “I knew you’d keep it. You’re practical and willing to fight for a bargain. I appreciate that.”

His fingers relax on the steering wheel, like he needs his hands to talk. “If you’re going to advertise a buy one, get one, then buying only one steak should mean it’s half price.”