Page 66 of I Saw You First

“Get back out on the floor, Cindy Lou,” I mutter.

At 11:30, Abbey’s voice comes over the intercom, paging a manager to the time clock. Crystal, the closing manager, messages me over my walkie. “It’s gotta be you, Wil. We’re missing like two grand from one of the tills, and I’m not leaving this office until we find it.”

“Got it,” I say. Any other time of year, I’d tell her to walk her lazy ass two feet out of the cash office to the time clock but tonight, I make the long haul from the warehouse.

Or maybe I want to see Abbey.

She’s leaning against the wall by the time clock. “What are you still doing here?” we ask at the same time. Neither of us laughs.

I enter my override code. “You shouldn’t be here. I never should have told you that you could approve your own overtime.”

“Rookie mistake,” she says as she punches in her employee number. The time clock blares an error alarm.

“You’re delirious,” I say. “I’m not a rookie, and you can’t even remember your own employee number.” I enter it for her. “You’re clocked out. Go home.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Good night.”

Fifteen minutes later, after Jeremy kicks me out, I walk out to the parking lot to find about five fresh inches of snow. I hope Abbey got home okay in that stupid, adorable get-up.

But as I near my car at the back of the lot, I see that Abbey’s is still here, too, and it’s not running. Where the hell is she? I sprint the rest of the way, sliding twice. She’s inside her vehicle, which, again, is not running. I start mine to get it warmed up, then walk over and knock on her window. She startles and whacks the back of her head on the headrest.

She rolls down the window and smiles at me sweetly. “Yes?”

“Battery?”

She sighs. “Unfortunately. Dad wanted to replace it the other day, but I didn’t want to be late for work, and…”

“Roll up this window and get out of the car.”

“Why?” Of course she’s arguing with me.

“Because I’m going to give you a ride home.”

“It’s fine, I’ll call Brianna and… oh, shoot. She’s at work, too.” She drops her head onto the steering wheel. “Leave me here. Go on. Save yourself.”

“Come on,” I say gently. “It’s late.”

She gathers up her things and follows me to my car, which hasn’t quite warmed up yet. I reach into the back seat for an extra pair of Choppers for her hands and a thick wool blanket to cover her legs.

“You have a Faribault Woolen Mill blanket? Don’t these cost, like, a hundred dollars?”

“You have your keys, right?” I ask.

She holds them up and jingles them. “Yes, sir. Seriously. How can you afford a blanket like this? If this is how much they pay assistant managers, maybe I should think about jumping into the rotation pool.”

“It was a gift. From my mother.” I back out of the parking space.

“You don’t talk about her much. Oh, look,” she says. “The m is burned out on the sign. Hoetown Electronics. Hoetown. That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” She laughs.

I make a mental note to call facilities tomorrow to have them fix the light. I try to stop before pulling out onto 80th, but we slide right through the intersection. We drive in silence for a few minutes and she hums along to “Lady Picture Show” by Stone Temple Pilots.

When I finally get to the freeway on-ramp, she reaches over and turns off the stereo. “Is it me or is it your last name?”

“What?” I turn to look at her but then snap my eyes back to the icy road. This is not ideal weather or road conditions for this conversation, if she’s asking what I think she’s asking. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” I say softly.

“Sometimes I think you might… have feelings for me. But you’re so hot and cold. Or maybe you do have feelings for me, but you can’t act on them because of Hometown and who you are and who your father is.” She takes in a gulp of air. “God, this is embarrassing,” she mutters, like she’s talking to herself. “He’s your boss, you moron.”

Yep, definitely talking to herself.