She closed her eyes a beat.
J.J. was trying hard to get to a place where she could smile at her memories. She wasn’t there yet. She felt pain when that grocery shopping memory popped up. If Dean was here, if he saw this fancy new place, they would reminisce about the old days of sky-high baby formula, diapers, Hamburger Helper, and cleaning products.
“Ugh, you’re here to get some wine and cheese and garbage bags. Snap out of it,” J.J. mumbled to herself. She forged ahead into the new store.
“Toto, we’re not in Barton’s anymore,” she said out loud, of course, and took in the gloriousness of Irish Hills Village Market. There were high beamed ceilings, rows and rows of packaged foods, colorful towers of fresh produce, a deli, and a bakery. The building went on as far as the eye could see. J.J. had to remind herself she was in Irish Hills. This place looked a lot like the fancy grocery store she’d accidentally walked into in Connecticut while searching for a pack of Twizzlers.
J.J. got to work filling her cart, first with supplies for boxing up the house—garbage bags, and, of course, Windex to wipe down the last things that needed wiping down after she emptied cabinets. She’d have to stop in and see her brother and get some Goo Gone, too. There were sticky things yet to be dislodged, she was sure.
Then she wondered about boxes. She knew most stores had loads of boxes they didn’t need, though by the looks of this place, the boxes were probably lined in cashmere.
J.J. finished the house aisle and perused the produce.Man, this is too much!She decided on a brick of cheese, a bottle of wine, some crackers, and a lovely bunch of grapes. She may have grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, but she knew enough not to come empty-handed to Nora House.
Shopping complete, she played her hunch and found the produce manager.
“Do you have any extra boxes in the back I could have for moving?”
“Sure do!” The produce manager was young, energetic, and cheerful as he bounded away while she waited.
Moments later, the friendly kid returned with six lovely boxes for her upcoming project.Ha, free of charge. Take that, Dean Tucker!
Ugh, Dean isn’t here.
She thanked the manager for the boxes, checked out, and refused a lovely offer to help her to her car. She was probably too defensive; it seemed like a thing an elderly widow would need, help out to the car.
“No, no, thank you. I can manage.”
Ned Barton would choke if he realized there was a full-time bagger at this store and said bagger was willing to walk her to her car.
She was rethinking her independent streak a few seconds later as she tried to push the cart with the groceries and boxes.
She got the groceries into the back of the station wagon but was in the process of turning around to get her boxes when a little gust of wind took her cart away.
“Shoot!” She watched it roll off.
It was headed toward the fancy SUV that was parked in the parking space across the lot. The boxes fell out all over the place as her cart picked up speed and headed directly toward what had to be the nicest car in Lenawee County.
Of course.
J.J. ran after her wayward cart. But it was too late. She lunged forward to try to stop the collision, but didn’t make it in time.
The Irish Hills Village Market Cart hit the sleek black Range Rover, square on the side panel, and then, for good measure, scraped forward toward the driver’s door.
J.J. grabbed it and prayed to the gods of grocery carts that this wasn’t a several-thousand-dollar situation.
She backed up a step, looked at the car panel…and then the door opened.
It made her jump back; she hadn’t realized the car was occupied.
A pair of expensive-looking leather loafers stepped out, attached to a pair of too-new jeans. Her eyes traveled up, and then she realized whom she’d hit.
Stone Stirling appeared, and J.J. looked into the ice-blue eyes of her arch-enemy.
And unfortunately, she had to apologize to him.
She took a breath and took her medicine.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stirling, the cart got away from me.”
