The Account
Natalie's POV
The card declined twice before the cashier gave me that look — polite, apologetic, faintly embarrassed on my behalf, the particular expression reserved for women who'd clearly been caught by surprise by their own finances — and asked if I had another method of payment.
I did. A small emergency stash tucked into the zippered pocket of my wallet, a habit I'd carried so long I'd never once stopped to examine it, and I counted out crumpled bills in the checkout line while the woman behind me shifted her weight and studied the tabloid rack with sudden, elaborate interest.
I called Daniel before I'd even pulled out of the parking lot, my hands still faintly unsteady on the wheel.
"My card got declined. In front of an entire line of people."
"Oh." A pause, unbother
