Chapter 10 - Jasmine
JASMINE
Friday night had been spent face-down on my couch, fully intending to clean my apartment and instead choosing to ignore it until future-me had the energy to deal with it.
But when I woke up Saturday with my stomach growling loud enough to file a complaint and realized my pantry looked like a war zone that had already been looted, I figured what the hell.
Might as well feed myself and pretend I have my life together.
So that was how I found myself standing in the chip aisle with a caramel cold brew sweating in my hand while I stared at two different bags like they were going to make a decision for me.
One was on sale.
The other was buy-one-get-one.
I flipped them over. Checked the ounces. Did the math in my head because I refused to be the kind of person who didn’t do the math.
I had money.
Plenty of it, technically.
That didn’t mean I was going to waste it.
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered to myself, grabbing both and tossing them into the cart anyway.
Because if I was going to spiral over sodium and artificial flavoring, I might as well do it prepared.
I shrugged as the voice in my head won out over everything else. I could afford a few of my favorite groceries. It didn’t have to be all rice and beans for days. I made good money.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t staring down a mountain of debt.
Student loans didn’t disappear just because your paycheck looked decent on paper. Neither did the credit card I’d leaned on when things got tight a few years ago.
I was just so ready to be free of it.
It won’t happen today, I told myself. Let yourself live a little.
I picked up the two bags of and then I walked over to the pretzels.
I wasn’t able to get my father to talk too much about my mother growing up.
The topic always made him mad. Or sad. I hated seeing my father that way, so I learned not to ask.
But I figured out a few things, whenever he was in a mood to regale me with stories growing up.
One of those stories was how when they were dating, she got choked up on a honey mustard pretzel and it scared the living daylights out of Dad.
But it didn’t stop her from eating her favorite snack.
“I would have loved to have met you, Mom,” I whispered as I picked up a bag of honey mustard pretzels.
I heard someone clear their throat to the left of me, and I didn’t think anything of it at first. Until they coughed.
I recognized that cough.
And when I turned in that direction, I saw him standing there.
The man in the mask.
From the other day.
“Well,” I said, because apparently my mouth liked to operate before my brain caught up, “at least the cough sounds like it’s getting better.”
Those brilliant green eyes snapped toward me. They’d looked almost flat the last time I saw him. Distant. Now they lit up, sharp and amused.
“I see you’re committed to the crunch aisle.”
God, that voice.
It made me glance down at the basket hanging from my arm before looking back up at him.
I still wanted to know why he covered his face like that.
I mean, outside of the cough.
“I’m definitely more savory than sweet,” I said, offering him a small smile.
More savory than sweet? What was I, narrating a cooking show?
He tilted his head slightly, arms folding across his broad chest. “So which one wins?”
I glanced down at the basket. “Why do you think I grabbed three different bags?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Couldn’t commit?”
“Never,” I said. “Commitment issues. Strictly in the snack department.”
That pulled a laugh from him, low and warm, and I hated how much I liked it.
“Well,” he said, shifting so he leaned an arm against the shelf, casual like he hadn’t just rearranged my nervous system, “you’re in luck. I’m more of a sweets guy. You can have all my chips.”
I brightened. “Then you can take my Skittles. They make my jaw hurt anyway.”
He lifted a brow. “Not a gum chewer?”
I shook my head. “I grind my teeth at night. My jaw gets sore pretty easily.”
“You should get a mouthguard,” he said. “Protect those molars.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you, a dentist?”
He chuckled again, softer this time. “Something like that.”
Something like that?
That was not an answer.
A beat of silence settled between us, not awkward exactly, just… aware.
“So,” I said, because apparently I liked living on conversational cliffs.
“So,” he echoed.
“I never caught your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t give it,” he replied easily. “But you can call me Ghost.”
“Ghost?” I blinked. “Is that a nickname? Because it makes you sound like a supervillain.”
That earned me a full laugh, not the contained one from before. I found myself smiling right back at him before I could stop it.
When it became clear he wasn’t offering anything more official than Ghost, I cleared my throat and shifted gears.
“Were you able to find a firm to help you with your issue with your superior officers?”
He didn’t get quite as excited as I hoped from the question. “I’m placing phone calls, but this kind of thing always takes time. I’ve got consultation appointments, though, so thank you.”
I waved my hand dismissively in the air. “It’s the least I could do.”
“It’s more than you could have done. Most would have turned me away.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can only imagine the hoops you had to jump through to get up to where I work anyway. Usually people aren’t allowed on the top level of the firm without explicit permission from one of the partners. Someone downstairs must’ve really wanted to help you out.”
His brow furrowed a bit. I found the movement fascinating. “Why?”
It took me a second to register his simple question. “Why, what?”
He pushed off the shelf and took a few steps, and I found myself falling in line with him.
For some reason.
“Why aren’t people allowed on the top floor of where you work?” he asked.
“Oh!” I chirped as my eyes continued scanning the throng of chip bags on display around us. “It’s just protocol. Security measures. Stuff like that.”
He chuckled. “What? Those glass windows up there need extra protection or something?”
I giggled as we turned down another aisle.
I grabbed a couple of canned goods. “It’s more security protocol than anything else.
We have rooftop access. Here in Bryersville, it’s well known that people have flung themselves off the top of the building.
They lock it down to tamper down on stuff like that. ”
“Wait, seriously?”
I nodded mindlessly as I reached for a jar of pasta sauce. “It’s sad, but it’s true. That building was very well known in town for a lot of other things before the firm swooped in and cleaned the place up.”
“Do you remember what kind of business it was beforehand? Must’ve been a tough one, with all of that nonsense happening off its roof.”
“From what I can remember as a child, it was just a big, looming abandoned building. I’m sure my dad probably knows, but—” I stopped myself.
I wasn’t sure why I was so comfortable just talking to this man, but I didn’t need to delve any further.
“Anyway. Yeah. They keep those upper levels locked down because you can open the windows. Access the rooftop. Stuff like that.”
I was so thankful when he didn’t double-back and question why I stopped myself like that.
Though I was shocked when he kept walking and talking with me. “Looking for anything specific in the store?”
I shook my head as we turned down yet another aisle. “Just looking for some favorite foods and quick meals I enjoy.”
“Lazy weekend?”
“Oh. Yes,” I said as I grabbed a queso blanco mac-n-cheese box. “And I can’t wait. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a lazy weekend.”
“Means you work too hard.”
I just gave a soft giggle. “That job is just a stepping stone to where I want to be. Plus, it helps with law school applications if you’ve been a paralegal before.”
“Is that the goal? Law school?”
No, the goal is to be debt free. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Just thinking?”
I shrugged as we approached the back aisle that housed all of the cold stuff. I grabbed a couple of pepperoni pizza Lunchables. “I’ve got other things I’m working on, but I’m hoping to further my education once it’s all said and done.”
Please don’t ask more. Please don’t ask more. Please don’t ask—
“Well, it was nice seeing you out in the wild,” he said as he parted ways with me, walking toward the cash registers. “I hope you have a nice, lazy weekend like you deserve.”
Why did it feel so weird to watch him walk off? “Trust me, I plan on rotting around with snacks, video games, and my favorite television show.”
I heard his chuckle, even as he disappeared down the toiletry aisle. “You’ve earned it. Enjoy your weekend, Jasmine.”
“You, too..Ghost”
I wanted to call out his name, but he never gave it to me. I wondered if most people called him Ghost. Did he enjoy people calling him that?
Why the hell was I so obsessed with the man?
“Get it together,” I muttered to myself.
It didn’t take me long to wrap up my shopping.
Basically, once my arm got sore from hauling around the basket, I took it up to the register.
Sixty bucks for some junk food almost made me not swipe my card.
I could be sixty bucks down on the credit card debt my father racked up in my name when I turned eighteen.
Alcoholism could suck my dick.
“Ma’am?” the cashier asked. “You can tap your card now.”
Her voice jolted me out of my trance. “Oh, yes. Sorry.”
“No problem.”
I tapped my card, and just like that, my wallet was sixty dollars lighter.
I gathered my bags and carried them out, thanking the cashier with a smile.
I just couldn’t think about it. That was it.
I did the best that I could to better myself and my credit score, and sixty dollars wasn’t going to make a big difference either way.
However, when I got out to my car in the parking lot and cranked it up, only for it to click on me, I realized that I was in trouble.