I scan the items on the conveyor belt as I attempt to make eye contact with the shopper on the other side of the register. Each beep of my system is the sound of an obscene profit margin. Seven dollars for a single tube of “locally sourced” lip balm. Six organic limes, a dollar each. Nearly seven dollars for a half gallon of organic, naturally sweetened almond milk.

When I’m done ringing her up, the shopper nods, grabs her bag, and remains glued to her phone as she walks away. I turn to close my lane when I find one more customer waiting in line.

Alec.

“I thought that was you,” he says. “I didn’t know you were working here.”

A thousand responses whiz through my mind, and I end up choosing the lamest.

“Yup.”

He sets down an avocado. A single avocado, his entire shopping purchase.

“That’s cool,” he says.

I turn off the light above my register, officially closing my lane to anyone else.

“It’s decent,” I say, which is close enough to the truth to count. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” he says, digging his hands into his pockets. “How is your son enjoying school? Max, right?”

“Yes, Max.” I think about how to answer this, and a part of me has an urge to tell him everything. Actually, Max is pretty damn miserable. He got sent home on his first day for threatening another kid, and since then, he barely talks to anyone. The only other student he even remotely knows is his Wednesday-Addams cousin, who’s two years older and doesn’t want anything to do with Max unless she’s questioning him about his dead dad. And speaking of, I still can’t figure out how he’s dealing with his father’s death since he never wants to talk about it. But he does go into these weird states where he seems catatonic for a few seconds here and there…

“Fine,” I say, packing all my thoughts into that meaningless word. “I mean, it’s an adjustment. We’re both…adjusting.” I ring up his avocado, and Alec swipes his credit card to pay.

“I imagine you are,” he says. “Not easy making friends in a new place, for either a kid or adult.”

“Very true,” I say. “Though I have a book club tonight, so that might be fun. My sister’s club.”

“What book are you discussing?”

I hand him his receipt and avocado. “Mine.”

He takes a second to process this.

“You’re a writer?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of books?”

“Mysteries.”

He flashes a smile. “I love mysteries. Do you write under your name? I’ll have to check your books out.”

“I write under the name J. L. Sharp. You might find them in the library. You can get them online for sure.”

“J. L. Sharp. That’s a good name. I’ll keep an eye out.” The moment lingers.

I untie the back of my olive-green Tuli’s apron and remove it. “Okay, off to school.”

“Me too,” Alec says. “Have fun at your book club tonight.”