She’d lit the cigarette and gotten a few puffs in when she saw the car pulling around the bend. Damn. No way he’d let her smoke in his precious car. Not that it was pretty or spectacular or anything, but he prized it above – well almost anything.

She took one long last drag, then threw it into the ground, and smooshed it with her foot. He’d pulled up next to where she stood, stopping the car quietly.

“What took you so long?” She asked.

Always with the complaints, he thought, though he knew better than to say anything.

“Traffic.”

“I’ve been waiting for -.”

“Bitch! I just told you there was traffic! It’s not like I planned it this way. There was nothing I could have done!” Which wasn’t entirely truthful. He could have not stopped at the store, but of course, she couldn’t know what he’d bought there.

“You could have called.”

“Police can track your phone calls now, sweetie.” Changing the subject, and the blame, he said, “You got the – stuff?”

“What’d you think is in the bags, Bob?”