Page 105 of My Boss

She hands me the first two cardboard boxes from the edge.

“Payment by card or cash?”

“Card.”

I pull out my wallet, pay with a contactless card and…

“How much did the total come out to?” I hear a voice behind me and I jump at the sound of it.

I turn around and see Jan behind me, putting the vegetables on the conveyor belt.

“Yyy, I haven’t paid yet.”

“You paid. Just now. By card.”

“Well, this.” I laugh nervously. “I got some chewing gum.” I shake the packets. “I was waiting for you to total it up. We’ll go halfsies.

The cigarettes are weighing down my purse. I feel like a drug smuggler who is lying to the customs officer at the border.

“Maria, calm down. After all, you’re not doing anything wrong, it’s just Jan, not a tax collector, and you’ve got smokes in your purse, not two pounds of heroin,” assures the nicotine hunger that can’t wait for me to finally satisfy it.

“There is no need for that. I’ll pay for all my purchases.” Jan’s gaze follows the display behind the saleswoman’s back. He squints. “Are you interested in something from that shelf, Maria?”

My heart rate shoots up.

“No. Where did you get that idea from?” I hastily unpack the products on the counter.

My cheeks are burning. I feel dryness in my throat. Holy crap. Why do I care what Jan will think of me when he finds out (or maybe he already knows?) that I just bought cigarettes?

“Nevertheless, I will take something, in case you get the urge,” he adds.

Stunned, I look at him. What? Has he changed his mind or what?

“Sauvignon Blanc, the one from the top shelf,” he says to the saleswoman, and at the same moment, I shift my gaze to the rack and smack my hand on my forehead (only in thought, of course).

Right next to the cigarette display are two rows of booze—vodka, wine, beer, cognacs…

I definitely need a drink.

“Take two. I’m suddenly in the mood,” I chuckle and continue to unpack our purchases.

When you break down the sentence, “You, me, a cabin in the mountains and a bed,” into the equivalent of prime factors, you imagine yourself with a guy on a fluffy white carpet in front of the fireplace, in a wooden cabin with a loft, on the slope of a snowy mountain.

In reality, Jan’s cabin is a modern passive house with a flat roof and large windows, surrounded by trees on all sides.

As soon as we step inside, I stop, dumbfounded. Jan’s mountain home is an identical copy of his apartment in the city. The same tiles, identical furniture, room layout, kitchen equipment, and even the same kind of dim lighting.

“I think I should make an extra wing armchair for you.” I unpack the groceries together with Jan. “Only… Where can I find another one just like it?”

He looks at me, squinting.

“It’s sarcasm, I think.”

“Not at all. It’s absolutely normal for people to furnish their out-of-town home and make it a spitting image of their primary residence.”

“I am not fond of change. I like everything to be in the same place. This kind of decor suits me.”

“You are… how to put it? Very peculiar.”

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