Randi looked at the two bills and change in her hand. That wasn't right. “Excuse me,” she said to the grocery clerk. “I gave you a ten, not a five.”
The cashier with the flame red hair–his name tag read Cupid, how lame–smiled sweetly and said, “I'm sorry.”
Thank goodness. Randi sagged in relief and smiled back. She hated confrontation.
He put his hands on the counter and peered at her. “Apparently you mistook me for someone who cares.”
Randi glanced behind her at the empty checkout lane. “Excuse me?” Her face heated. What could she say to that?
The cashier just laughed and turned away to chat with the girl at the neighboring register, giving Randi a view of the wings painted on the back of his shirt. He was taking this Cupid thing too seriously.
All she'd wanted was some cookie dough. Hey, give a girl a break, it was tough being lonely.
“You should talk to the manager,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Randi spun and looked into the handsome face of her neighbor, Eric. Oh, God. He would see her like this. Sweatpants, hair in a bun, buying cookie dough, and not an assertive bone in her body. And alone on Valentine's Day.
Although, so was he.
“Hi, Eric,” she said, her voice high and thin. She grimaced and could feel the blush creeping up her neck. Just kill her now. “No, it's okay. Maybe I did give him a five.” She hadn't, but it wasn't worth the trouble.
He glanced at the tube of dough in the plastic shopping bag and grinned. “Looks like we both had a craving for something sweet.” He held up his bag and showed off his tub of ice cream. “Wanna share?”
Randi glanced back at the cashier. He grinned, winked, and mimed shooting an arrow. She blinked and he turned away again. Nah.
Eric took her hand and she smiled. On their way out the door, she snuck one more look at the cashier, but he was gone. She frowned. “Did you see…”
“What?” Eric asked.
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss. “Happy Valentine's Day, Randi.”
Oh, yes. Yes, it was.