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It wasn’t even that he was a jerk or at least not that I’d noticed. But his blond hair and farm-boy good looks reminded me of my ex-boyfriend, and I had enough memories of Brendan groping me and slobbering down my neck to last a lifetime.
    I glanced at the clock. Five minutes left and only two more shoppers in sight, neither of whom looked ready to hit the checkout right away. I propped the “Next Register Please” sign at the end of the conveyor, switched off the overhead sign, and started spraying and wiping down my lane.
    I’d finished tidying the coupon drawer and was stepping back to let Shandra close out my till, when Jon waved to me. “Hey, I’m done in a couple minutes too. Want a ride home?”
    The offer was tempting, especially since it was freezing rain outside. But I wasn’t the type to waver once I’d made up my mind, and I’d already decided not to encourage Jon if I could help it.
    “No, thanks,” I said. “I’m good.”

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    I was heading across the parking lot with hands deep in the pockets of my thrift-store coat, collar turned up against the March sleet, when one of the stock boys came sprinting out to join me. “The Regina bus?” he panted, skidding to my side. “Has it come yet?”
    He had feathery black hair, cat’s eyes behind rectangular glasses, and a pair of earbuds tucked into the collar of his jacket. Like Jon and most of the other part-timers he was around my age, and I was pretty sure he’d been at the store at least as long as I had. But our breaks were at different times, so I didn’t know much about him beyond his name: Milo Hwang.
    “Yeah,” I said. “It went by a couple of minutes ago.”
    “Do you know when the next one is?”
    “At this hour? Forty-five minutes.”
    He swore softly and turned to head back inside. I called after him, “But the bus I take runs parallel to yours, and they overlap in a couple of places. You could take that one, if you don’t mind walking a couple of blocks.”
    “Oh. Okay.” He reversed direction and fell into step with me again. “Thanks.”
    When we reached the bus shelter, there was a trio of girls huddled together inside, passing a cigarette around and giggling. Milo and I stood beneath the glare of the streetlight, icy rain needling our faces.
    “Well, this sucks,” he said after a moment. “You take the bus all the time?”
    “Pretty much,” I said. “We’ve only got one car, and I don’t have my license yet. ”
    “I used to ride with my mom,” he said, “but then she switched over to the night shift—oh, finally.” The bus had eased itself around the corner and was trundling toward us. It squeaked to a stop and the door rotated open, letting out a blast of warmth.
    “Go ahead,” Milo told me, rummaging in his pocket for change. I took the steps two at a time, flashed my pass at the stoic-looking driver, and dropped into a seat, shaking ice from the bangs of my pixie cut.
    Milo was still standing by the fare box when the three girls squeezed past him, caromed off each other, and landed en masse on the bench seat along the left side, whooping with hilarity. I could see the driver’s grimace in the mirror, but he didn’t speak. He closed the doors, and as the bus pulled out from the curb, Milo stumbled down the aisle to me.
    “OK if I sit here?” he asked.
    Usually I kept my eyes closed all the way home, building prototypes in my head. But I supposed a bit of company wouldn’t hurt. “Sure,” I said.
    He swung himself in beside me, stretching out his legs and unzipping his jacket to reveal the green store polo beneath. “Nicola, right?” he said. “I’m Milo.”
    “Niki,” I said. “And I know.” Remembering people’s names was an old habit my mother had drilled into me—her number one tip for making a good impression. “So are you going to take the bus from now on?”
    Milo took off his sleet-speckled glasses and wiped them on the hem of his shirt. “Probably bike it, once the