“I’m in,” Taylor agreed.
“Let’s do it,” Sara nodded. “But we’re replacing everything we used of Jaxon’s. Man stocks his fridge like it’s an apocalypse bunker.”
They headed for the SUV, pulling out their phones to start a shared grocery list.
“What do you think Claire and Jaxon are doing right now?” Macie asked as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“Knowing my sister?” Sara said, pulling out of the driveway. “Probably shopping for something she saw on a girl’s Pinterest board last week.”
“Doubt it. Jaxon doesn’t strike me as the ‘hold my purse outside’ type.”
“Nah,” Macie grinned. “He’s probably got her eating at some random diner with the best food in the city and a health rating just barely hanging on.”
The car filled with laughter.
The grocery store parking lot was hell.
Peak season. Packed rows. Sunscreen in the air and chaos everywhere.
“Everyone’s trying to squeeze in one last beach selfie before school starts,” Sara said, wedging the SUV into a space the width of a sandwich bag.
“I know we’ll be in here a while thanks to Chef Sara,” Macie said, stepping out and dodging a rogue shopping cart. “Let’s make this fun.”
“What, like make a video?”
“No. Count the bathing suits.”
“Wait—what?”
“Y’know. Girls in unbuttoned jean shorts with bikini tops acting like it’s an outfit. Bonus points if their flip-flops slap louder than their attitudes.”
“Don’t forget the beach bros,” Taylor added. “Tank tops, swim trunks, and always—always—a case of beer and a bag of ice like they just remembered their cooler was empty.”
“I’ll count those,” Sara smirked, grabbing a cart. “First one already—dude coming out with a case of regrets.”
Macie pointed. “Two bikini girls by the entrance.”
“Aisle three,” Taylor whispered once inside. “Girl in suit bottoms only. Her confidence is unmatched.”
The laughter was already echoing off the cereal shelves.
“Taylor,” Sara deadpanned, “maybe you tell us what’s on the list before we end up on a Walmart cringe reel.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Bread, eggs, grits, ham, shrimp, drinks, beer.”
Sara blinked. “Grits? Why?”
“For dinner.”
“We’re eating grits for dinner?”
“Yes, if Chef Sara would stop questioning the executive chef’s vision.”
“Two more guys with beer,” Sara added, checking a mental tally.
“And potatoes,” Taylor tacked on.
Macie laughed. “Imagine what that woman we just passed thinks—Sara calling out potatoes and then ‘two more dudes with beer.’ She’s probably wondering what aisle we’re finding men on.”
