"Three years," she admitted with the ease of someone who refused to feel insignificant for hustling behind the same register for such a duration of time. So what did it matter if she'd never been promoted? Not everyone aspired to corporate standards of greatness. The only thing Cecilia was doing here anymore was murdering time in half-day chunks. Sometimes, as lifeless as it was, the grocery store offered the only peace she could find.
Swiping his paycheck through the electronic reader, she slipped it into the bottom of her drawer. Counting out his money, with her eyes still carefully aimed below sealevel, she blew a neon bubble that smacked against her teeth and seemed to break the lull of silence.
"You're not from Seattle." Although stated with certainty, it was still a question. His words were burned raw by hurricane winds, soaked in a leisurely creole crescendo that she couldn't identity, but found a little bit hypnotizing.