toward the back of the store
where we’d left my kitten. “Callie, huh? You do realize your cat isn’t Calico
but more like a Tabby, right?”
“I didn’t name her Callie because of the color of her fur! I
liked the name, okay?”
He raised both hands, palms out. “I was only pointing out
the obvious. No need to be all defensive.”
“I’m not being defensive—”
“Yeah, you kind of are.” He took a step away from me, palms still
raised. “Have you thought about checking out the women’s personal hygiene area
by any chance? I hear they make pills for this kind of thing.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You didn’t just suggest my aggravation
with you is due to PMS and not based on the fact you’re freakishly annoying?”
He removed a candy bar from his pocket and tossed it at my
feet. “Look, chocolate.” Then he turned and took off down the aisle.
“You’re going to need these.” Cole knelt and placed several
bottles of vitamins next to my already stuffed bag.
“I don’t have room. I can barely fit everything in there as
it is.” My pile grew larger every time Cole left me and reappeared carrying more
stuff—jerky, sunscreen, scarves, and gloves, packages of gum, knee-length
socks, and now vitamins. “I won’t be able to carry my bag.”
“You make things more difficult than they need to be, I
swear.” He left me again and returned with an empty shopping cart. Why hadn’t I
thought of that before? Here I was, busting my back, when all along I could
have used a cart like the homeless do—I was homeless after all.
I grabbed my bag to toss inside, but he pulled the cart away
from me. “First things first—get in.”
“Huh?”
“It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.” Trying to
understand Cole was like trying to understand calculus—nearly impossible. For a
guy who kept confessing his “adultness,” he sure didn’t act any more mature
than a ten-year-old.
I reached for the cart again, but he yanked it away. “Get
in.”
“We don’t have time for this—”
“Of course we do! There’s always time for some fun, and
right now we could use a little. You could use a little. Remember I said
I’d only stay if you promised not to poop at my party?”
Poop at my party? “Do you mean be a party pooper?”
“Not much of a difference, really, but you promised, so get
in or I’m walking out the bullet-riddled front door and not coming back.” He
stepped backward, taking the cart with him. He turned it one way and then the
other, testing me by wiggling it back and forth.
I needed to find Dad, not goof around with stupid shopping
carts. He was wasting time.
“Okay, suit yourself.” He whipped the cart around. “See ya on
the flipside, kid.”
“Wait, Cole.” I dropped my bag. What am I doing?
“Yesss?” He turned the cart toward me and raised a brow.
“Even though I think we should be doing other things like
gathering bottled water and trying to find a way to charge my phone, I’ll get
in your stupid cart.” Being with him had better be worth it, but the longer I
was with him, the more unlikely it seemed.
“Sweet!” A huge smile swept over his face, and his
expression of victory nearly caused me to change my mind. I could be stubborn
too.
He gave the cart a shove in my direction, and I took hold of
it, stopping it before it crashed into the shelves and knocked everything to
the floor. This is ridiculous. Sooo ridiculous.
“Go on, get in.”
“This is dumb.” I slipped a leg over the side into the
basket. “I haven’t ridden in one of these since I was a little kid.” When was
the last time I rode in a grocery cart? Maybe when I was three or four years
old? There was a reason for that— carts weren’t meant for grown people!
“Really? I did this the other day.” He maneuvered the cart
in the direction of the front doors and steered without regard to its passenger— me— forcing
me to grip the sides to
where we’d left my kitten. “Callie, huh? You do realize your cat isn’t Calico
but more like a Tabby, right?”
“I didn’t name her Callie because of the color of her fur! I
liked the name, okay?”
He raised both hands, palms out. “I was only pointing out
the obvious. No need to be all defensive.”
“I’m not being defensive—”
“Yeah, you kind of are.” He took a step away from me, palms still
raised. “Have you thought about checking out the women’s personal hygiene area
by any chance? I hear they make pills for this kind of thing.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You didn’t just suggest my aggravation
with you is due to PMS and not based on the fact you’re freakishly annoying?”
He removed a candy bar from his pocket and tossed it at my
feet. “Look, chocolate.” Then he turned and took off down the aisle.
“You’re going to need these.” Cole knelt and placed several
bottles of vitamins next to my already stuffed bag.
“I don’t have room. I can barely fit everything in there as
it is.” My pile grew larger every time Cole left me and reappeared carrying more
stuff—jerky, sunscreen, scarves, and gloves, packages of gum, knee-length
socks, and now vitamins. “I won’t be able to carry my bag.”
“You make things more difficult than they need to be, I
swear.” He left me again and returned with an empty shopping cart. Why hadn’t I
thought of that before? Here I was, busting my back, when all along I could
have used a cart like the homeless do—I was homeless after all.
I grabbed my bag to toss inside, but he pulled the cart away
from me. “First things first—get in.”
“Huh?”
“It’ll be fun, I promise.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.” Trying to
understand Cole was like trying to understand calculus—nearly impossible. For a
guy who kept confessing his “adultness,” he sure didn’t act any more mature
than a ten-year-old.
I reached for the cart again, but he yanked it away. “Get
in.”
“We don’t have time for this—”
“Of course we do! There’s always time for some fun, and
right now we could use a little. You could use a little. Remember I said
I’d only stay if you promised not to poop at my party?”
Poop at my party? “Do you mean be a party pooper?”
“Not much of a difference, really, but you promised, so get
in or I’m walking out the bullet-riddled front door and not coming back.” He
stepped backward, taking the cart with him. He turned it one way and then the
other, testing me by wiggling it back and forth.
I needed to find Dad, not goof around with stupid shopping
carts. He was wasting time.
“Okay, suit yourself.” He whipped the cart around. “See ya on
the flipside, kid.”
“Wait, Cole.” I dropped my bag. What am I doing?
“Yesss?” He turned the cart toward me and raised a brow.
“Even though I think we should be doing other things like
gathering bottled water and trying to find a way to charge my phone, I’ll get
in your stupid cart.” Being with him had better be worth it, but the longer I
was with him, the more unlikely it seemed.
“Sweet!” A huge smile swept over his face, and his
expression of victory nearly caused me to change my mind. I could be stubborn
too.
He gave the cart a shove in my direction, and I took hold of
it, stopping it before it crashed into the shelves and knocked everything to
the floor. This is ridiculous. Sooo ridiculous.
“Go on, get in.”
“This is dumb.” I slipped a leg over the side into the
basket. “I haven’t ridden in one of these since I was a little kid.” When was
the last time I rode in a grocery cart? Maybe when I was three or four years
old? There was a reason for that— carts weren’t meant for grown people!
“Really? I did this the other day.” He maneuvered the cart
in the direction of the front doors and steered without regard to its passenger— me— forcing
me to grip the sides to
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