Chapter Five: Price Checks and Mixed Signals

Callie was halfway through stacking a wobbly tower of clear storage bins when she heard that voice behind her.

“You know,” Eli said, “if I die buried under one of these things, I want you to tell my story. Make it heroic. Like I died saving a child from a runaway cart of Rubbermaid.”

Callie didn’t turn around. “You’re overestimating how much anyone here would care.”

He stepped into her peripheral vision, grinning. “Still, I think ‘Fallen in the Line of Tupperware’ has a nice ring.”

She slid another bin into place. “You’d be lucky to get a cardboard memorial on the breakroom fridge. Maybe a sticky note.”

“‘Here lies Eli,’” he said, miming it out with his hands. “‘He tried to alphabetize the plastic ware. He failed.’”

“You're so dramatic.”

“I prefer ‘theatrically underappreciated.’”

That got her to crack a smile—small, but real. She didn’t hand those out easily. Eli noticed.

He wasn’t sure how he’d become her aisle partner two days in a row, but he wasn’t about to complain. There was something steadying about her. Sharp edges, sure. Dry wit, definitely. But she was honest in a way most people weren't. And she worked with a kind of quiet precision that made him want to match her pace, to not get in the way.

“I like your hair like that,” he said, nodding toward the bun at the top of her head.

She gave him a flat look. “It’s held up with a pen I found in the lost-and-found bin. Don't romanticize it.”

“Still,” he said. “It works.”

“You’re flirting with me in front of the air fresheners.”

“Strategic move,” Eli replied. “If it goes badly, I can always claim the fumes got to me.”

“You say that like it hasn’t already,” she muttered, walking off with the cart.

He trailed behind her.

It wasn’t just that she was pretty—which, of course, she was—but it was the kind of pretty that snuck up on you. You noticed it when she tilted her head while trying to decode a broken barcode scanner, or when she muttered sarcastic commentary under her breath at the overhead announcements.

At the breakroom later, she was already pouring a cup of the sludge they called coffee when he joined her.

“You always drink it black?” he asked.

“Less disappointment when you expect it to taste terrible.”

He handed her a sugar packet. “Just once, try a little hope.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you giving me a pep talk with Splenda?”

“I believe in small gestures,” he said, sipping his own cup with a wince. “And in protecting your taste buds.”

She took the sugar without a word and stirred it in. He didn’t know if that counted as a win, but she hadn’t insulted him for it, so... maybe progress.

“I was going to hit the pet supply section next,” she said. “Unless you’ve got dibs on the dog biscuits.”

“I’ll trade you if I don’t have to deal with the leaking bag of birdseed again.”

She nodded. “Fair.”

As they left the breakroom, Brenda passed them with a clipboard and an exaggerated eye-roll. “Look at the lovebirds. So cute.”

Callie didn’t flinch. “Brenda, you’ve been watching too many soap operas.”

Brenda smirked. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t date a guy who knows his way around a pricing gun.”

Eli gave a casual shrug. “I do have excellent scanning form.”

Callie shot him a look. “Don’t make me regret partnering with you.”

“I live for your regret.”

The day stretched into the usual BuyMore haze—price checks, a woman yelling about expired coupons, and Marcus accidentally setting off the security gate with a mis-tagged phone charger. Somewhere in the middle of it, Eli got sent to clean up a spill in aisle ten and returned with paper towels stuck to his shoe.

Callie didn’t say anything. Just pointed.

“I’m choosing to believe that’s part of the new uniform,” he said, peeling it off.

“Very fashion-forward.”

They were unloading a new pallet of bathroom supplies near the end of the shift when he caught her laughing—not a big, loud laugh, but one of those small, reluctant ones when something sneaks up on you. He’d said something dumb, trying to remember how to pronounce “eucalyptus,” and she’d muttered, “Stick to chamomile, Shakespeare,” under her breath.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy this job so much. It wasn’t about the shelves or the labels. It was about her. About the quiet rhythm she kept and how he’d fallen into step with it without even noticing.

Later, just before closing, Callie found a note on the side of her cart. It was scribbled on the back of a damaged-item tag:

Conquered the bathmats.

Only minor injuries.

–E

She sighed. She rolled her eyes.

And then she smiled.

**

After close, the store emptied out slowly. The hum of fluorescent lights finally clicked off. Marcus was halfway through a long-winded story about a customer who tried to return a used plunger, and Brenda was laughing like she’d heard it for the first time, even though everyone knew she hadn’t.

Callie grabbed her hoodie from the back office and slung it over one shoulder. Eli was locking up his till nearby, humming something that sounded like the theme from a video game she couldn’t place.

“You walking home again?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You mind if I walk with you? I mean, if it’s not weird.”

She studied him for a moment. “You always this forward?”

“Only with people who intimidate me.”

That made her laugh—just once, under her breath. “Fine. But no more bathmat stories.”

“No promises.”

They walked out together, the doors hissing shut behind them.

Outside, the parking lot lights buzzed overhead. The pavement still held the heat of the day, and the street smelled faintly of rain even though the sky was clear.

Eli kept a polite distance as they walked side by side.

“So,” he said after a few minutes, “real talk. What’s the worst thing that’s happened to you at BuyMore?”

Callie didn’t miss a beat. “A raccoon fell through the ceiling tiles in aisle five. Twice.”

He stopped walking. “Twice?”

“Same raccoon. Got away the first time.”

“Did he leave a forwarding address?”

“Only fur and trauma.”

Eli laughed, a real one this time. “Okay, I have to admit... this job’s weirder than I thought it’d be.”

“You’ll learn,” Callie said. “Give it time.”

He wanted to ask more. Ask what she did outside of work, if she lived alone, if she’d always had that little scar above her eyebrow or if it came from the raccoon incident. But he didn’t. He just walked beside her, careful not to say too much.

Not yet.

When they reached the corner where her apartment building came into view, she slowed.

“Well,” she said. “Try not to trip over anything tomorrow.”

“I make no promises,” he said. “But I’ll bring extra Splenda.”

She gave him a nod and turned toward her door.

He watched her go, still smiling.

Not a bad day.

Not bad at all.