Despite my name, there’s no charity at the Super Min.” Charity pointed to the liters of Diet Coke. “Cash or charge?”
“Cash.” While she reached for her wallet, Gussie took one more look at the man still standing in the parking lot. The unforgiving Florida summer sun poured light over him, making his hair glisten and emphasizing the shadows under defined cheekbones.
“Ahem.” Charity knocked inch-long nails gleaming with a fresh coat of Charged-Up Cherry against her counter. “Would you like to stand there and drool all over the magazines so I can’t sell them to anyone now that Tommy Jefferson himself had his tattooed palms all over them?”
Gussie reached for the issue of Vogue, hardly aware that she stroked the glossy cover as she took one more look at the man who’d brought the image to life.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, pay for your soda.”
Gussie tore her gaze from the parking lot to the beast in front of her. “Add the magazines,” Gussie blurted out. “And candy. And Snapple. And whatever else he was buying. I’ll take it all.”
Charity’s eyes grew wide behind her bifocals. “And do what with them?”
Help out a great talent. Great-looking talent. “None of your business.”
She pffted out a breath. “Everything on this island is my business. Like, why do you wear different-color wigs every day? Someone asked me about it, and I assumed, you know, chemo or something.”
Gussie almost laughed, because how else could you even respond to such rudeness? “So that’s what you told them?”
“I told them I’d find out.” She leaned way off her little stool to peer hard at Gussie’s face. “And all that makeup. What’s the deal?”
A slow heat slid up her chest and onto her cheeks, which Charity probably couldn’t see because of all that makeup. She dug for the snappy retort about how Charity could benefit from a touch of mascara and a magnifying mirror so she could actually find her eyebrows, but doing her good deed for the day beat out the need to snark at the old lady.
Reaching into her wallet, Gussie grabbed two twenties—those magazines were pricey—and slapped them on the counter. “I’ll take it all. His and mine.” She scooped everything into her arms, using the magazines to cradle his Snapple and her Diet Cokes.
“What the—”
“Keep the change,” Gussie called as she hustled away, not pausing to second-guess the impulsive decision. The bell dinged as she shouldered the door open, just as the sedan pulled out of its parking spot.
“Don’t leave!” she called out to the back of the car. Seeing his right-turn signal flash, she ran that way, bolting into the intersection, almost right in front of the car. “Hey!” The move nearly cost her a forty-dollar armload.
He slammed the brakes and jerked his head back in surprise, glaring at her with thick brows drawn together in incredulity.
“I have your stuff.” She lifted her arms, rolling the Diet Cokes to a precarious angle on top of the magazines.
He still stared at her like she was a complete and total lunatic. Which, right at that moment, would be a fairly accurate assessment.
“Your…magazines,” she called through his closed window, angling her whole body so one of the soda bottles lodged between her elbow and boob. “And tea and candy. I bought them for you.”
He stayed in the driver’s seat, clearly uncertain of the possible danger of a pink-wigged woman who’d spent way too much money for a stranger. Finally, he lowered the window.
“Why would you do that?” he asked.
She had no freaking clue, except she admired his work. And his body. So she’d either sound like a fangirl or stalker. “Just to be nice.” Oh, so lame. Her elbow braced the armload so tight that her muscles started to burn. “And I kind of hate that woman who owns this place.”
That made him smile, just a little. Just enough to trip Gussie’s heart.
“That makes two of us. Hang on.” He put the car in park and opened the door. Climbing out, he reached for the magazines and sodas, a lock of hair falling over his eye as he looked down at her. “Let me help you.”
He reached for the Coke bottle as she moved to protect it from slipping so his fingers accidentally grazed her chest.
He drew his hand back—not terribly fast—but she felt the tea slip right between the magazines and her stomach. “Oh!” She gasped, leaning into him to save the glass bottle from the fall, but it slipped and crashed to the concrete, making them