His eyes widened, and I was sure he was going to accept, but then we heard a series of hoarse coughs coming from upstairs.
Vern sighed. "Thanks so much, but I'd better heat this soup up for Mellie and get her some medicine. The sooner she gets better, the sooner I can give her bakery back to her."
"I understand. Mellie has my number. Call or text if you need anything, okay?"
He gave me a shy smile, and then we said our goodbyes and I headed for Dead End Pizza, which I kept hoping would turn itself into a restaurant but the owners stubbornly kept to carryout. Even a town as small as ours needed more than one sit-down restaurant.
I did a mental headcount. With Aunt Ruby, Uncle Mike, Shelley, and Jack coming over, I was probably going to need five large pizzas.
Maybe six.
But when I got to the pizza shop, the cute teen boy at the counter had the pizzas ready for me. "Six large assorted for Shepherd," he said when I walked up. "Mr. Shepherd ordered and paid for them and told us to watch for a cute redhead in a Dead End Pawn shirt."
Of course he paid for them. Jack was always careful not to make his tiger metabolism cost anybody else money in terms of groceries or dinners out. He had a hoard of gold the Atlantean royal family had forced him to accept for services to the crown, he'd told me once, saying that he hadn't wanted to cause some kind of international diplomatic incident by continuing to refuse them.
But money hadn't turned him into a tiger-shifter version of the Brigham Hammermills of the world. He still drove an old truck, lived in an old house, and wore faded jeans like most of the rest of us in Dead End.
I admired him for it.
I also sometimes secretly wondered just how much money a 'hoard' was, but I kept that to myself.
I also didn't mind the "cute redhead" bit.
The pizza guy helped me carry the boxes out to the car, and I gave him a ten-dollar tip, holding the bill by the very edge of one side so as not to accidentally touch his fingers.
"Thanks!"
"We working people have to stick together," I told him, and he flashed a confident smile and leaned against the side of my car, striking a casual pose. Tall, blond, tanned, and with serious muscle, you could tell this kid thought he was something special.
"Hey, if you'd be interested in going out sometime, you could come to one of my games," he said, in what I'm sure he thought was a smoothly charming way.
I blinked. "Your games?"
"Football. Dead End Manatees. I'm the best quarterback the team has ever seen, or so everybody says. I'm too modest to say it myself." He tried a self-deprecating chuckle that I was too startled to appreciate.
"Oh. You're in high school," I said, trying not to laugh. The male ego was very fragile at this age. "Ah, it's very nice of you, but I'm way too old for you… Um…"
"Vince," he said, holding out a hand. "And I like older women. Especially when they're as pretty as you."
Older women. Oh, brother.
It was getting harder and harder to hold in the laughter.
"I'm sorry, Vince, but I don't shake hands," I said gently. "Are you new in town?"
"Yes." He raised an eyebrow. "How did you know?"
"Most people know me on sight. It's the hair," I said, almost apologetically, pointing to my fiery red ponytail. "I'm Tess Callahan, and you really,reallydon't want to shake my hand."
I could see the realization dawn in his eyes. Somebody must have told him about me.
"Oh," he said hastily, taking a step back. "I, um, I'm sorry. I didn't, I mean, I hope I didn't offend you."
"Not at all. Thanks, Vince." I smiled at him, but he was already rushing back inside.
I sighed and started the car to head home. I hadn't been much older than Vince when my gift first manifested. A customer named Annabelle Hannah Yorgenson had come into the shop on my first day running the store on my own. I'd shaken her hand and blurted out how she was going to die—horribly, at the end of her husband's shovel—and then I'd had a seizure and almost died. She'd screamed and run away and, much later, we'd found out that she'd died exactly as I'd seen.
The problem was, it wasn't like I was having a hazy vision when it happened; it was more like I was standing there in real time, watching someone die. This is almost never a fun thing—it's usually hideous. Often, it knocks me down, although I'd become better about not losing consciousness over the years.
