Me and my stupid mouth.
It was always getting me into trouble. But in my own defense, I'd been cranked about the rental situation all week, and I'd just gotten my first glimpse of the stranger who was now living in my house.
Was it any wonder I was a little distracted?
I gave the customer an apologetic wince. "I'm so sorry. I didn't meanyou. I meant someone else."
The guy glanced around. "But I'm the only one here."
Sure, he was the onlycustomer, but that didn't mean he was the only person I could see. In addition to the guy on my porch, a much older man in a big brown coat was shoveling the snow off his sidewalk with a degree of gusto that made a mockery of his years.
Him, I knew. The customer, I didn't.Maybe he was new to the neighborhood?
I searched his face and came up empty. Neighbor or not, I hadn't meant to insult him. "I reallyamsorry," I said. "I was thinking of a totally different person, honest."
"Oh, yeah? Who?" He gave me the squinty-eye. "An ex-boyfriend?"
I snuck another peek at the porch. The renter had finished tying his laces and was now staring across the distance.
At me.
Helooked amused.
I wasn't.
I looked back to the customer. "Ex-boyfriend?" A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "Um…something like that." Okay, so the renter wasn't an ex, and he wasn't a friend, but maybe a decade ago, hehadbeen a boy. Right?
The customer's face finally relaxed. With a low chuckle, he said, "If you wanna talk pigs, I should send out my wife."
What?NowIwas the one frowning. "That's not a very nice thing to say."
The guy's good humor evaporated. "Hey,youstarted it."
"I don't care," I said, giving my own mid-section a nervous glance. "We all struggle with our weight."
The guy drew back. "I wasn't calling herfat."
Hah! Likely story."Oh, yeah? Well, it sure sounded that way."
"Not tome," he insisted, looking like he meant it. "You took it all wrong."
I gave him a dubious look. "Oh, did I?"
"Yeah, I meant something way different."
"Oh, so you were calling her a slob?"Like that was any better."Well, we all struggle with housework, too. Andmaybeif she had a little more help, your wife wouldn’t be so messy."
"Messy?" He gave a sarcastic snort. "Oh, that's nice."
I was still holding the whipped cream dispenser. Deciding that the guy had received all the whipped cream he deserved, I set down the dispenser with a thud and reached for the shaker of candy cane sprinkles.
If I were any less professional, I would be skipping the sprinkles entirely and going straight for the lid. But this was my very own coffee truck, and I prided myself on quality.
When it came to sprinkles, every customer – no matter how rude they might be – received a minimum of six shakes, seven if they were extra-nice.
I was barely two shakes into it when the guy grumbled, "You know, I'm only out here because the wife made me do it."
I glanced up. "Do what?"
