“You have to pay for those, you know.”
“I will,” I say with a shrug. “Now go. I bet I can finish with my list way before you can.”
His brow arches. “Is that a challenge?”
I stuff another chip into mouth, nod, and then take off running in the opposite direction before he even realizes what I’m doing. Technically it’s cheating, but I ignore his shouts behind me as I narrowly avoid a cart being pushed along by an elderly woman. She bats her fist at me like I’m some no-good youth, and hell, maybe I am. I’m running in a grocery store while eating stolen merchandise, but it’s for the greater good—or at least for good, healthy competition.
I realize my mistake a minute later when I glance down at Adam’s list. His messy handwriting might have seemed adorable before, but it’s going to be my downfall in this race. What the hell does he mean by “crosted tumatues”. I squint and gather that the second word is actually tomatoes. Still, what the hell are crosted tomatoes?!
I ask everyone in the tomato and pasta aisle who will humor me.
“Lady, I have no clue. I’m just trying to get to the spaghetti sauce.”
I try someone else. “Excuse me, sir, have you heard of crosted tomatoes?”
He shakes his head and keeps careful watch of me as he scoots his cart past, like he assumes I’m going to reach out and grab it.
“I’m not crazy!” I tell him, like any sane person would. “I just don’t know what crosted tomatoes are!”
Then I fling my arms up in hopeless abandon and knock down one of the display towers so carefully arranged in the aisle. I scramble to keep the cans from rolling too far away and succeed in recreating the display at least half as well as the person who did it before me. Mission accomplished. I look down and read what the cans say: crushed tomatoes. CRUSHED, not crosted! I mistook Adam’s u and h for an o and a t. I shout that to the man who thinks I’m crazy and he tells me I better leave him alone.
I know I’m running behind. Adam is probably done with his list and heading toward the checkout by now. I make a mad dash for tomato sauce and lasagna noodles, and then I spend a solid five minutes in the cheese section trying to decipher his handwriting. Parmesan and mozzarella are easy enough to make out, but there’s a third type of cheese that’s plaguing me. I’m scanning through all the possible options on the shelf when someone says my name behind me.
“Madeleine? Is that you?”
I turn to find Carter grocery shopping in his police uniform. Well damn. I now realize that if he’d worn this getup on our first date, there would have likely been a second.
“Carter! Hey!”
I’m excited to see him for two reasons: he was in the market for a house the last time I checked, and I think he can help me decipher Adam’s handwriting. I start with the latter.
“Oh, yeah, that says ricotta.”
I slap my forehead. “Of course! Duh. Thank you.”
He finds it on the shelf before me and then adds it to the growing pile of ingredients stacked in my arms. I should have grabbed a basket, but in my rush to get going, I forgot one.
“You got it?” he asks with a laugh.
“Yeah. It’s all very strategically balanced and should stay in place as long as I don’t make any sudden movements.”
He laughs again, and I ask how he’s been since the mixer.
“Good. Just picking up extra shifts whenever I can, keeping busy.”
“Sounds fun. Did any properties catch your attention?”
I’m nothing if not direct. I still have a grocery-shopping contest to win, after all.
“Y’know, to be honest, now probably isn’t the best time to invest in real estate. I’m going up for a promotion soon and if that happens, I’ll have a bit more income to play around with.”
I’d hold up my hands to stop him if they weren’t full. “Of course! Believe me, I understand. I have dreams of moving out of my crappy apartment one day too.”
He smiles and catches the attention of another shopper, who passes extremely slowly with her cart. Like I said, it’s the uniform.
“I am in the market for a date though.”
My attention jerks back to him. “What?”
“C’mon, Madeleine. I know the timing didn’t work so well last time, but we had a good time, didn’t we?”
“You never called me about a second date,” I admit sheepishly.
His brows arch as if in shock. “I must have been busy with work or something, because believe me, I was interested then, and I’m interested now.”
“Oh…ha. I don’t think…I mean, I’m flattered.”
I am, seriously. Up until the last few weeks, I would have crawled on my hands and knees for some male attention, and now suddenly I’m at the grocery being asked out while on a date. Is Mercury in retrograde or something? Wait, what does that even mean?
“C’mon, you aren’t seeing anyone, are you? I asked Daisy at the mixer and she said you were dating, but it was nothing serious.”
At that precise moment, I spot Adam push a cart around the corner, and for some reason, I panic. It feels like I’m cheating on him, like I’ve snuck off in the middle of our date to have a rendezvous in the dairy section with Carter. Adam’s expression as Carter and I come into view only solidifies my guilt. It sits like heavy sludge in my stomach.
“Madeleine?” Carter asks, trying to figure out why I’ve suddenly gone mute.
Adam stops his cart beside ours and glances back and forth between us.
“Cameron, hey.”
“Oh, it’s Carter.”
“Right. Madeleine, did you get all the stuff on the list?”
I look down at the pitiful stack in my arms. I still have a ways to go, and now it looks like I’ve been here dilly-dallying with Carter instead of shopping.
“I had trouble finding the right cheese,” I offer lamely.
Carter laughs. “I helped. No worries.”
Adam doesn’t laugh, and I can’t be sure, but I think most of the cheese melts off the shelf when Adam’s laser-beam gaze slices through Carter.
To cut the tension, I drop my stack of ingredients in Adam’s cart. Carter notices and holds up his hands in innocence. “Sorry, are you guys…together? I would have never—”
“Oh, yeah. I mean—”
“You didn’t say you were here with someone.”
Now Adam’s laser beams are aimed at me. I fire mine right back at him.
“I didn’t really have the chance.”
My excuse sounds pitiful even to my own ears.
“Umm.” A short middle-aged woman with a baby strapped to her front tries to shove past us. “Would it be possible for me to get to the cheese for a second?”
“Oh yeah, of course.”
I step away and give her room to browse.
Carter backs up and nods. “I’ll see you two around. I need to get these groceries home before my stomach growls at me again.”
I laugh and wave him off, hoping the tension will drift away with him.
Shocker—it doesn’t.