Page 57 of Good as Gold
“Okay, uh, thanks.” He gives me a quick, guilty smile. “Sorry to bother you. Exciting weekend, huh?”
Then it happens—his gaze drops to the basket, where a pregnancy test is the only item left.
“ARE YOU FINISHED SCANNING?” demands the checkout robot. “PRESS ‘FINISH AND PAY,’ OR PRESS ‘NEED ASSISTANCE!’”
“Leila?” Rory gasps, his voice pure shock. “Are you…?”
“What?No. Hold on.” I quickly scan the pregnancy test and throw it into my bag. Then, with a shaking hand, I pull out my credit card and finish the transaction.
Meanwhile, Rory’s arms are crossed, and he’s staring at me with the kind of mounting anger that suggests flames are about to erupt from all his facial orifices.
“PLEASE TAKE YOUR RECEIPT! THANK YOU AND GOODBYE!”
A receipt as long as highway 89 comes spooling out of the machine, and I grab it and head outside.
Rory follows me, and we barely clear the doors before he starts spitting questions at me. “Pregnant? Holy shit. Is it mine?”
“Shhh!” I demand. “God, no. If I were pregnant right now, that would be an immaculate conception.”
He blinks. “Okay, yeah. But then what the fuck…?”
It’s hard to speak through gritted teeth, but I manage it. “Sometimes women pick up things for their friends. Private things.”
His face relaxes. “Oh. Shit. I just imagined…” He shakes his head.
“Well juststop,” I insist. “Besides—you stonewalled me foryearsabout having kids. And I respected that, until you made our marriage impossible. That’s when you gave up your right to inquire about my private life. So this will be the last time we ever have this conversation.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ’cause it’s such a good time.”
“Whatever, Rory. Go roll your eyes at someone new. And if I’m ever lucky enough to move on with my life, you don’t get to ask questions. You don’t get to comment. Even if I leave the store with a carload of lube or condoms or Jack Daniel’s or any goddamn thing! It’s none of your business.”
His face hardens. “Message received.”
“Good. Now have a pleasant evening.”
I turn around and storm off. After all this time, I finally learned how to make an exit.
Should have done it sooner.
CHAPTER21
MATTEO
It’s probably a blessing that I have to work today. Otherwise, I’d sit around all day fantasizing about upcoming events.
It’s a warm Saturday, and I’ve already hauled my uncle’s beer wagon behind his pickup truck to the fairgrounds in Tunbridge. Now I’m setting up under the hot sun.
The beer wagon is a jaunty metal trailer with a barrel-shaped roof. The exterior is painted a minty green, with stylish wooden panels and a narrow bar that folds down from the broad serving window. There’s also a chalkboard where the menu and prices are meant to be posted.
The whole setup is really charming, and once again I have to marvel at my family’s ingenuity. What better way to advertise craft beer than driving it all around New England to sell it at a premium?
I can already tell that it’s going to be a busy day. The food festival doesn’t start for another half hour, but the hordes are already queued up, buying tickets and gathering near the gate.
This is the only beer truck in the whole place, but there are at least two dozen food vendors, plus a homemade root beer guy, a maple soda guy, and a lemonade cart.
It’s hot, too, so my line will be long. Otto swore he was sending out someone to help me, but so far, I don’t see anyone else.
Setting up takes about a half hour. I’ve hooked the wagon to the power source and tested the taps. I’ve got three taps, each with different beers. The total number of kegs is four, although Otto provided me with only three hundred cups.
