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In Massachusetts, the local Trader Joe’s was a beacon of color, with bright signs suspended out front and fresh produce practically spilling from the shelves. Morton’s only grocery store was beige and as commonplace and average as everything else in town. Economy Grocer was a long rectangular building wedged between a run-down used bookstore and a small Payless ShoeSource.
Engrossed in one of her paperbacks, Belinda had placed the car keys in Delilah’s hand and sent her off to fetch onion powder. Delilah thrilled at any chance to drive on her own. Driving alone meant the chance to listen to loud music of her choosing.
Delilah wasn’t sure which cosmic force to thank when she pulled into the cracked parking lot of Economy Grocer just in time to see Gavin Timothy’s lanky frame disappear between the automatic doors. Keys and purse in hand, she hopped out of the car and made her way into the supermarket.
Standing at least a full head taller than everyone else, Gavin was instantly visible down the middle aisle, where he reached to pluck a box of ice cream from the frozen-food case.
“Hello there, Gavin Timothy,” she said, stopping a few feet away.
He straightened and looked at her over his shoulder. “Delilah Blue.” As usual, Gavin was dressed in black from head to toe, his jeans practically painted on and his T-shirt doing really, really nice things for his arms and the flat lines of his stomach. But it was his smile that had her taking a step back and stumbling into a display of Hershey’s Syrup.
“I’m fine,” she said before he could ask, righting herself almost immediately.
“Good,” he said, his smile widening, approaching indecent levels. Closing the freezer door, he turned to face her, motioning to the box of Drumsticks in his hands. “I was leaving work and craving ice cream.”
Together they turned and walked side by side up the aisle. “I hope you have one in there for me,” Delilah said, bumping his arm with her shoulder.
“I’m not sure what watching you eat one of these would do to me,” he said, and Delilah almost dropped her keys and Gavin shook his head next to her. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“I think we need to figure out which of us is going to be the scandalous one here, because I’m not sure this friendship can handle two.”
Friendship, she reminded herself. Friendship.
“Just giving you a run for your money,” he said, following her around the corner to the spice aisle. A woman of about sixty was reading the back of a box of cake mix and glanced up, frowning in judgment as she inspected the messy-haired shadow at Delilah’s side.
Delilah scanned a row of spice bottles. “That one,” she said, pointing to the top shelf.
“Here?” he said, finding it easily and handing it to her.
“Thank you. Why do they put things so high? I need a stepladder to reach it.”
“Or maybe you need a grocery escort from now on.”
Her heart turned into a thousand fevered bird wings. “So what are you doing with the rest of your night?”
“Eating ice cream and thinking wholesome thoughts,” he said. “And I have a history test to study for. You?”
“Watching my dad watch TV? I don’t know.” She looked up at him. “Not much going on, really.”
Gavin looked like he might say something more, but they’d reached the checkout.
“Hey, Dave,” Gavin said, setting his box on the tiny conveyor belt before shoving both his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A middle-aged man with hair that thinned on top and grayed at the sides looked up at him in confusion.
“Hi,” he said slowly, watching Gavin through narrowed eyes like he was trying to place him. “Do I know you from somewhere, kid?”