Wren

Rolling my full cart towards the pay station, Ezra’s jaw drops when he sees me.

“One of those bags better contain a better attitude,” he says, still staring at the bags.

I roll my eyes, glancing at his empty hands. “If you didn’t get anything, move. Stop hoarding the cash point.”

He steps out of the way, eyes inspecting every item I take out. The cashier scans, and packs them up for me.

As soon as the bill is printed, Ezra beeps his card, paying for my items.

My grin is ...