I will look closer next time,” I said, unpacking the bread and placing it in the ceramic box.
“And this brand of bread is thirty cents more than the one we usually buy,” he said, his pen hovering over the paper.
“They were out of the regular white bread, Richard.”
“Then you go to another store,” he said, drawing another red circle.
My hand went to my apron pocket, where the stiff corner of the lawyer’s business card poked against my knuckles.
Richard stood up from the table, folding the receipt into a small, tight square that he tucked into his shirt pocket.
“What is that in your hand?” he asked, his eyes dropping to the movement of my apron.
I quickly slid my hand all the way into the pocket, my fingers curling around the card to hide its gold edge against my palm.
“Just a grocery list,” I said, my heart ticking in time with the yellow clock on the wall.
