“Any fun plans for tonight?” I change the subject as I lock up the house. “I can give you a ride to town if you need one.”
“Maybe. I …”
When I turn, I find Bo frowning down at the toes of his boots. The scuffed footwear he found at a secondhand store is probably better for yard work than working inside at a library all day. But when he asked about needing more professional attire, I pointed out that, most days, I’m in leggings and sweatshirts. As long as Bo is comfortable in his clothes, that’s all I want for him.
After years of discomfort, he deserves it.
“You what?” I prompt him when he hesitates to finish his sentence.
“Never mind. I can walk.”
“Walk to town?” I jingle my car keys in the air. “I just told you I’d take you. I don’t mind.”
“You probably have plans to get to,” he mumbles.
“My only plans are with the cereal aisle in the grocery store. I’m low on Chex Mix.”
He perks up. “You’re getting food? That’s what I need too.”
Doesn’t surprise me. He’s a big guy, and the RV has limited pantry space.
“Perfect.” I wave him to follow me to my car. “We’ll go shopping together. Drive all the food back right after so nothing spoils.”
Bo grunts in agreement, but before I realize my normal shields have relaxed, I catch the lemon yellow of eagerness, paired with rosy longing.
This guy must be pretty hungry.
Our drive from the library to the supermarket is quiet, only broken by the radio station playing Top 40 hits. I turn the volume up a few notches. “Music. That’s something you might want to catch up on,” I offer, figuring a few three-minute songs are easier to digest than the entire internet. “This is Taylor Swift.”
Bo’s brows pop up. “I know her. She’s got that song about teardrops on her guitar.”
“Wow.” I give a dry chuckle. “That takes me back.”
“It does?”
“Yeah. That was her first big hit. But she’s had tons more. And her career … actually, she’s a pretty good place to start to get an idea of the evolutions in pop culture.” I toss Bo a quick grin. “What do you say? Want to hear about the last seventeen years of T. Swift history?”
From the corner of my eye, I swear I see a twitch toward a smile on his mouth.
“Please. Educate me.”
So, that’s how we spend the rest of the car ride and all the time in the produce section of the supermarket that sits technically just outside of town limits. I walk Bo through awards show drama, and toxic label contracts, and musical genre shifts, and A-list dating, and everything else Taylor-related he would’ve heard about if not for spending years as a statue.
He laughs at the funny parts and growls in outrage when I describe the injustices.
“I’ll play you a few of my favorites tomorrow. Before anyone gets to the library.”
“But only if they’re Taylor’s Version,” Bo insists, and I smile in response.
He pushes the cart behind me as I add foodstuffs to a growing pile.
We turn down the cereal aisle, and I seek out the Chex Mix. Some people like to snack on chips, but I like to munch on a bowl of cinnamon breakfast food. Once I toss two of the extra-large boxes in the cart, I turn to find Bo holding a box of Lucky Charms, frowning at the front.
“What’s up? Is it damaged?”
Bo blinks, then places it back where he found it. “No. I just …” His eyes sweep the cereal aisle. “I recognize the brands, but it’s like they all decided to redo their boxes in one night. Familiar but different. It’s eerie.”
His hands return to the cart handle, knuckles white. Before, Bo seemed interested in my Taylor Swift saga. Eager to learn about what changes occurred. But now he’s back to looking lost.
