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“Want to go ahead of us in line?” he asks.

“Oh …thank you, but no. That’s okay.” Even though I’m in a hurry, and it would help to be able to get out of here sooner, I don’t want to accept a favor from this man after refusing to give him my number.

I tilt my head to look past both of them to gauge how many items they have, and I’m dismayed to see a nearly full cart. Full of … marshmallows?

There are a couple of other random items in there, like a two-liter bottle of cola and a loaf of bread, but there are at least a dozen or more bags of marshmallows, both large and small, filling the rest of the space.

Why was that guy commenting about the two large boxes of chicken nuggets in my basket when he’s buying out the store’s entire stock of marshmallows?

Curiosity almost gets the best of me, but I keep my questions to myself. Considering the juggler’s erratic behavior, I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

Maybe it’s as simple as they love marshmallows and there was a big sale going on. Or maybe they operate a massive s’mores business. Either way, it’s none of my concern.

“Hey, nice to see you!” The older woman cashier’s eyes light up when the men in front of me step up to check out.

Standing a few steps behind them, I try not to listen in on their conversation, but I’m hopeful an explanation for the marshmallows that fill the conveyor belt will be offered, so I also don’t try too hard to tune them out.

Sadly, the cashier doesn’t even seem to blink an eye over all the confections. Instead, the conversation is mostly the men asking how the woman’s grandchildren are doing, and from the sounds of it, she has a lot of grandchildren.

The two guys bag their own groceries, and continue to talk to the cashier after their order is finished and she starts scanning mine. They load their bags into their cart, and start bagging my purchases as the cashier pushes items down to the end.

I reach a hand out while I dig my wallet out of my purse with the other. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Old habits,” the juggler says, continuing to snag my items and put them into bags. “I used to work here when I was in high school.”

“Oh.” Maybe that’s why he felt comfortable enough to juggle fragile items right in the middle of the store.

The men are still hanging around after I pay. “We can carry your things out to your car for you,” the lighter-haired guy says. “Where are you parked?”

While I’m trying to turn down his offer, the cashier teases the dark-haired man that he’s trying to get his job back. When he puts my gallon jug of milk on the cart’s child seat, I get a little flashback to the days when Jessie would sit in that seat when I went shopping. She could probably still fit, but she’d never want to sit there now.

“I can carry everything. It’s not that much,” I tell the guys.

“It’s no problem. We’re headed in the same direction,” the light-haired guy says.

I definitely don’t need their assistance, and I feel odd accepting help from two strange men, but the cashier knows them, so I suppose it’s safe enough to let them walk to my car.

As we exit through the store’s automatic doors, a woman who looks to be about ten years older than me, somewhere in her mid-to-late 30s, checks out the two men as she approaches. She obviously likes what she sees.

Right before she passes, her eyes go big, like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. She gives the men a big smile and a wave, which they return.

“Who was that?” I ask after she goes by. I don’t mean to be nosy, but her reaction was strange; it wasn’t the typical greeting of an acquaintance.

“I don’t know.” The juggler sounds sincere, but I’m skeptical. The woman definitely seemed to know them.

Oh well, it’s another thing that’s none of my business. Despite the intimate atmosphere of this early morning grocery run, this town isn’t small at all, and I doubt I’ll run into these guys ever again.

I pop the trunk of my old compact SUV, hoping that it isn’t full of toys and coats. Sometimes, I lose track of what ends up back here. To my relief, there are only two coats, a frisbee, and a lawn bowling set from a recent park outing.

While the guys are loading my groceries into the back, a woman pulls in next to my vehicle and quickly gets out of hers, hyper-focused on the two men.

“Oh my god! I’ve spotted you in the wild. Can I get a picture with you?”

The juggler grins, seemingly unsurprised by this request. He quickly agrees, and the other guy smiles too, but his grin appears somewhat forced.

The woman positions herself between them and extends her arm to take a selfie.

“Want me to get that for you?” I ask, more out of polite habit than anything else. I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m just going to go with it.