He walked into the convenient store with an attitude. I had caused his mood. Or at least had some part in it. He glared at me from over the aisle. I forget how tall he is, until his angry seems to remind me.
He came to the counter.

“Will that be all?” I asked him as he slid a bag of Doritos toward me.

“No,” he said with a snarl. “As a matter of fact, that won’t be all.”

“What else then? Cigs? Beer? A Slushee?”
He tilted his head and squinted. “As a matter of fact. I love you.”