The Sweetest Thing You Can Sing by C.K. Kelly Martin Page B

action to crash back onto the set.
    ***
    I’m glad to be out of the house during dinner the next day. I smile extra hard at everyone, even the grumpy guy with wispy bits of grey hair growing out of his ears who complains that the copy of The Notebook that he bought for his wife keeps freezing in their DVD player. “If you bring it in with your receipt we’ll exchange it for you,” I tell him in the sincerest tone I can muster. Irritable customers are easier to deal with if you make their problems sound important, and let’s face it, The Notebook should not skip. I’m sure his wife doesn’t want to miss any quality Ryan Gosling moments.
    And, you know, Ryan Gosling — not a real live person, so I can stream The Notebook from Netflix again after work if I want to. I can cry and lust at the same time; one doesn’t preclude the other.
    Michael Bublé’s voice is bouncing through the air around me as the grumpy guy pops the upset stomach pills he just bought into a Whole Foods bag and mumbles that he supposes he’ll have to rummage around and find the receipt. “Have a good day,” I tell him.
    I think I know all of Michael Bublé’s lyrics off by heart now. He seems to be Total Drug Mart’s favourite person. I wonder who’s made more girls cry — Michael Bublé singing “Lost” or Ryan Gosling in The Notebook ?
    The next girl in line has really cool purple hair and tons of piercings. She sets a package of Monistat and a bottle of conditioner in front of me, opera music leaking out of her earbuds. As I’m scanning her Monistat my eyes zing in on a male form sauntering over with a big bag of Doritos. He’s back. And this time he’s wearing a black wool coat, unbuttoned and hanging open. He smiles when he sees me notice him. Why am I always noticing him? It’s good that he has a winter coat on, though, and he did give me a ride the other night so I should definitely thank him. It’s only polite.
    I throw the purple-haired girl’s things into a plastic bag as Gage gets into line behind her. Thinking his name makes me tingle. Gage, Gage, Gage . It doesn’t sound like a name I’d like — it’s too short, weirdly functional — but I like it on him. What would he do if he knew I was standing here thinking his name over and over? Would he be all over me in no time? Would I even mind?
    “Hey,” Gage says as the Monistat girl moves away from the counter. “How’re you doing?” He points at my name tag. “I feel like I’m cheating but I honestly did remember your name was Serena.”
    “Liar,” I tease. Yes, I’m flirting, but that doesn’t mean anything. It only counts if our lips touch.
    “I’m serious,” he says, the strength of his grin making it impossible for me to avoid grinning back. “Why would I lie? I actually …” He drops his voice, his expression turning slightly sheepish. “I noticed before you told me.”
    “Uh-huh, you committed it to memory the minute you saw me, huh?” I’m kidding, but I’m also glad that my skin doesn’t happen to be breaking out and my hair hasn’t decided to do anything weird today.
    Gage tilts his head, his grey eyes shining like high gloss marble. “I’m not really good at this, but when are you getting off?”
    Not good at this? Yeah, right. When you look like Gage you’re automatically good at macking on girls. Everybody knows that.
    “Do you want to pay for that?” I ask, motioning to his Doritos. A second ago he had me believing his shy-boy expression but he ruined it with that last line, overplayed his hand. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s another Jacob; it was obvious from the first time I saw him.
    Gage hands over his Doritos without a word. I scan them in and recite the after tax total. “So …” He presses a five-dollar bill into my hand, looking as though he’s holding his breath. “Is your dad picking you up tonight?”
    “Uh-huh.” I look him in the eye, all business. “So I don’t need a ride if that’s what you