Did You Get What You Deserve?

~*Alecsandra’s Point of View*~

“We need more marshmallows, Jaina!”

She nodded and ducked out the back to the storeroom. Having Jaina on board certainly made everything easier. With four of us, we could manage all our orders in half the time.

I checked my watch. Ten to five. Less than an hour till we could all go home. Thank God.

Jaina emptied the bag of marshmallows into the canister at my elbow, then picked up the two coffees I’d just finished making and took them to their respective owners.

“You’re good, kid,” I said as she passed me on her way back into the kitchen. She flashed me a pearly white grin and disappeared.

“Flat White, Alec,” called Jess from the cash register. I nodded and grabbed another cup.

The customers slowly dwindled, and at five-twenty Jill decided to close up and send us home early. After wiping down the tables and stacking the chairs, I grabbed my bag and left.

I ran through my shopping list in my head as I headed towards the dairy. Not much, just dinner, bread and milk. I grabbed what I needed and put it all on the counter.

“That’ll be $18.90.”

I handed the dairy owner twenty dollars.

“Keep the change,” I muttered, turning away and walking straight into the man behind me.

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

He chuckled.

“We meet again. Hello, Alec.”

“Hello, Luke.”

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Luke, are you stalking me?”

He held up his hands.

“I’m not, I swear. This is a small town, y’know.”

He took two of the plastic bags I was juggling.

“You look like a girl who needs some help.”

“And you look like a man-” I stressed the word “-who is unusually and unnaturally helpful.”

He grinned at me.

“Come to think of it,” I added, “I don’t even know how old you are. For all I know, you could be a forty-year-old creep.”

His expression was one of mock outrage.

“I’m offended you think I look forty. For your information, I just turned twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two?” I stared at him. “Jesus, my dad would have an aneurysm if he knew I was talking to you.”

“Why, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

He stopped walking.

“You’re joking.”

“Honest to God. I turn seventeen in April.”

He whistled.

“I’d better be careful what I say then,” he said, “there are children present.”

“Shut up!”

He laughed, and I realised we had reached his car.

“Oh, I’ll take my-” but he dumped the plastic bags in the back seat of the Mercedes, followed by the ones I was holding. Then he held the front door open for me.

“I am going to drop you home,” he said, “or wherever it is you need to go next.”

“Why-”

“That,” he said, tapping my nose, “is what friends do. Now get in.”

I had him drop me round the corner from my house. I knew if Dad saw the car there would be questions, and I just wasn’t in the mood to answer them.