Declined.
He slid the card again. Same red word flashed.
The cashier hesitated. The line behind us shifted impatiently.
“I can put things back,” he murmured, voice barely there.
Before I knew what I was doing, I stepped forward.
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
He turned, startled. “Miss, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I added a chocolate bar from the rack. “House rule: always something sweet.”
The total was under ten dollars. I paid, handed him the bag, and he thanked me five times, each quieter than the last, eyes shining.
We walked out together. He thanked me again in the parking lot, then disappeared into the dusk.
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