“Except when the sign says you must buy two to get the deal.” A shiver runs through me, remembering his angry words through gritted teeth when I made the same argument. That’s bullshit. I want a manager. And then, the disbelieving look he gave me when I said that was me. In his defense, I present young with my freckles and pale skin, especially at work when sporting a ponytail.

“Sorry if I was… gruff,” he says.

It’s a surprise to hear him apologize and admit it. Nice isn’t his go-to behavior. Once, I passed him on the street while he gruffly told a man with a poodle to “Make an appointment.” Another time, at the pharmacy, I overheard him arguing with his mom, Carmela, over dropping off something to his brother. “Mom, I’m not the Tripp family delivery boy,” he said before taking the bag anyway and storming down the aisle.

“You were a little lamb,” I chuckle, not wanting to make him feel worse. “And not the first or last to complain. I was happy to give you the deal… Between us, I don’t like that sale either. It puts me on defense. It’s hard delivering my excellent customer service when the customer’s already pissed off.”

He cuts me a surprised look. “Hm, Marina cusses?”

A light shrug makes me wince. We climb the bridge over the Cape Fear River, the gentle thumps underneath us creating a constant ache in my belly. Tears pool in my eyes, anxious for the bridge to be over despite how much I love ogling the battleship, the choppy waves, and the quaint downtown.

“Need a break?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle. “We could stop on the other side. Get something to eat if you’re hungry.”

My head shakes before he finishes talking. “I just want to get home... Sorry if that sounds weepy.”

“No apologies, remember?”

A relieved sigh calms me, especially hearing him say my words from that day. I didn’t need his apologies then, and I’m glad he doesn’t want mine now. It’s like he’s giving me permission to be whatever I need.

“Um, did you tell the Sullivans that the deal was bullshit?” he asks, drawing my focus.

“I voiced my concerns, but it’s a numbers game for them. Most people buy multiple steaks. Some see a buy one, get one, and decide to stock up their freezers. Little do they know, the Sullivans raised the price per pound days before the sale. So, really, the savings are pretty negligible, and the Sullivans get to move a lot of steaks, even with lone dissenters like you.”

“They’re crooks.”

“They’re smart business people. Besides, it’s best to pick my battles for something that matters to more people. You know, the ones not buying steaks.”

“Like?”