"What do you mean, the grocery stores are a nightmare?"
"They're just impossible to find," she said, touching her fingers to her temples. "I swear, I drove in the same circle for an hour just to get to the store."
I peered at her. "Are you talking about the rotary?"
"The traffic circle," she said.
"Therotary."
"It's called a traffic circle. That's the name."
I shook my head. I wasn't arguing the New England dialect with a southerner this morning. "It took you an hour to exit?"
She lifted a shoulder. "Maybe not a full hour."
"But close enough?" When her only response was a blink, I continued, "And then what happened, Jasper?"
With a defiant shake of her head that was practiced only in its purity, she said, "I mean, I think I got the right ingredients. I haven't actually visited a grocery store in years. It's just so overwhelming without the list of items you usually buy right there in the app. Do I use bread flour or cake flour? I don't know. How am I supposed to know that? And all the different types of sugars, my word. How am I supposed to know the correct one for baking? Aren't most of them interchangeable? They didn't even have the brand of bread I prefer which was truly disappointing. All I can say is I really miss the stores where I used to shop."
"And where were those?"
Jasper turned a piercing glare toward me. "Mid-Atlantic."
"Right. The mid-Atlantic." I motioned for her to continue. "Then what happened? How did you commit this crime against bananas?"
"I had to bake it in the crockpot because the oven wasn't heating up but—"
"Let me stop you right there." I shook my head. "You baked it in a crockpot?"
"That's what I said."
"Crockpots aren't for baking."
"Crockpots are for everything," she replied. "Crockpots can cook anything and you're light on the imagination if you think otherwise."
I motioned to the loaf again. "That's a real nice argument but this begs to differ. You're sure about the flour? And the sugar? You're sure it wasn't spackle? I'm positive I tasted some spackle."
If my brother was here, he'd tell me I was being an ass.
He wouldn't be wrong.
She fisted her hands. "I was trying to thank you. It's a kind gesture, you know."
"Yeah, I caught that part. Just not sure if you're trying to kill me with your kindness."
Her cheeks were red now, almost comically so, and I swore I could hear her molars grinding together. I was really,reallysick because I was enjoying the hell out of this.
"If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't do it with kindness."
I leaned a hip against the counter. When I crossed my arms over my chest, my knuckles brushed the front of her jacket. "How would you do it, then?"
She glanced down at where the back of my hand lingered against the denim. "That shouldn't concern you."
"Why not?"
She dropped a hand on my chest, saying, "Because I've thanked you for your help and fulfilled all expectations of courtesy, and now I'll live happily knowing I've done my part. I'll also live happily if our paths never cross again. Help me out with that, would you?"
After another pat to my chest, Jasper spun away from me and marched straight out of my house, the front door banging shut behind her.
