ChapterOne
Emma staredat the wall of kale. Red, curly,lacinato. This was why she didn’t buy vegetables. Too many choices and not enough…instruction. She closed her eyes and pointed, then plucked a bundle of verdant leaves from the display.Greens are cheaper than skincare.That’s what Vaughn was always telling her. He’d be thrilled to hear she’d listened for once and would hopefully tell her how to consume this.
The strawberries looked scrumptious, andthoseshe knew what to do with. Dip them in melted chocolate chips, obviously. That, or give them an oil sheen along with a spritz of water and glycerin to make their colour pop on camera.
Emma sighed. She’d accepted years ago that she couldn’t force her brain out of work mode purely because she was grocery shopping for sustenance instead of props.That one berry in the corner could use a swipe of lipstick to cover up the bleached spot at its tip.
"Excuse me.” A woman reached past Emma to grab a bunch of grapes.
“Sorry.” Emma scooted over and flashed a smile, then moved on to the avocados. She’d filled each of her mesh produce bags, which meant it was time to check out. Limiting herself to seven bags was how she reminded herself that she was cooking for one and didn’t need to bring home enough fruit for an entire hockey team.
Growing up, she’d shopped with her mother, who was always cooking for a small army, and that training was still her default. Her brothers ate like junkyard dogs, especially during hockey season.Two bunches of bananas? No, we need four at least. Now, help me load eight gallons of milk into the cart!
Her oldest brother Sean took full advantage of the fact that their mother had never adjusted. Sharla Thompson still made pots of spaghetti that could feed half of downtown Calgary. Or Sean’s Elite League hockey team every Sunday night. Same difference, really.
Her phone buzzed in the pocket on her left thigh. She switched her shopping basket to her right arm and slipped it out.Speak of the devil.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Emma! What are you up to this fine March morning?”
“Trying not to wish I was in Cancun instead?”
Her mother laughed. “Well, I’m glad you’re not in Mexico. I heard there were a couple of carjackings the other day, and not near the border either. In a touristy town—Rob, what was the place called?” Emma stifled a grin as her dad yelled from the other room. “Well, he doesn’t remember, but the point is, I’m glad you’re here this weekend so we can see you Sunday night.”
Emma stepped into line behind a man holding three cases of mineral water.Thirsty.And mineral deficient, apparently. She didn’t know that was possible living in Alberta. “Mom, I haven’t come to a Sunday Supper in ages—”
“No, the Snowballs have a tournament in Saskatoon this weekend. The team won’t be back until well after supper. We wanted to spend some time with just you. You’re welcome to bring Lindsey and Vaughn if you like.”
Just her?When had that ever happened? She was the third of six children, and while she wasn’t going to pretend her life had been anything but charmed, her parents had only forgottenoneof their children in the Claresholm Seven-Eleven. At least the guy behind the counter then hadn’t been a serial killer, or she wouldn’t have the current privilege of watching Mineral Man pay for his future kidney stones in loonies.
“Sure, I can reach out to them.” Emma pinned her phone between her cheek and shoulder as she emptied her basket onto the counter.
Her mother’s refrigerator door slammed. “Now, I know Vaughn is going to ask what we’re having, and it’s not all gluten-free, but I was planning to make Jell-O salad and green beans.”
Emma sighed. “Mom, gluten-free doesn’t mean he can’t eat regular food—”
“I know, I know. I just want to make him feel comfortable.”
The idea of watching Vaughn pretend to enjoy Jell-O salad was almost worth lying to him about the menu. “Sounds great. Can I text you later? Just checking out at the grocery store.”
“Oh, sorry, I won’t keep you. Love you, Ems.”
“Love you too. Give Dad a hug for me.”
Emma paid for her groceries and strode out the front sliding doors, her runners crunching over the re-frozen slush still shaded by the brick building.Two more months until summer.She could hold out till then, couldn’t she?
Every year she had this conversation with herself. It was only a matter of time before she gave in, sold her apartment, and high-tailed it to Vancouver like both of her younger sisters. If Vaughn and Lindsey would go with her, she’d leave tomorrow. Except she’d need her parents to come, too, and then Sean would be annoyed, but when wasn’t he annoyed with her life choices?
Something skittered across the ground, and Emma stuttered a step.A credit card?She opened the back hatch of her CRV and dropped in her groceries, then picked it up.
A driver’s licence.Emma flipped it over and blinked at the gorgeous face staring back at her. Umm . . . that was not a driver’s licence photo. Even in black and white, this was a straight-up headshot for GQ.Maybe it was because of the black and white?
First of all, this guy was definitely smiling, andwas he even looking at the camera?Had the employee at the Registry found this man to be so beautiful that he’d snapped a candid? Emma wouldn’t have blamed him.
She wiped the muddy water from the plastic and read the name. Tyler Bowen.Yes, please.Born in 1991. March.Tyler just had a birthday.
Emma dropped her hand and pursed her lips. Was she really reading someone’s personal information in the middle of a Co-op parking lot? She was a bonafide voyeur. It’s pathetic that this was the most exciting thing that had happened in her love life for weeks.
