I followed his gaze and noted both Odin and Frigg trying to look very interested in quiche and dog biscuits, respectively.
Frigg, a trucker hat on backward, her button-up short sleeve with FRIGG’S RIGS embroidered across the pocket, glanced over at me. She tipped her chin at Ryder and held up a bag of treats, offering to peg him in the back of the head.
I took a breath, held it for a second, searching for that calm water, that smooth sand somewhere inside me.
“Delaney.” Odin pushed his cart between us, forcing us to step back. “Ryder.” Odin’s eye patch was forest-green leather today, the band tight enough it made his wild gray hair go mushroom shaped at the top.
He was a trickster god, but also a god of wisdom and poetry, among other things. Here in Ordinary, without his power, he was a chainsaw artist. And not a very talented one.
“Odin,” I said.
“Did I overhear a dinner being planned?” He focused his one eye on Ryder and leaned toward him. “Somethingspecialgoing on tonight?”
I frowned.
Ryder cleared his throat. “Delaney and I are having a nice dinner.Alone,” he added. “Just a nice dinner.”
“Just a nice dinner?” Odin asked. He threw a look at Frigg, and I thought I caught her dragging her finger across her throat in the “kill it” signal, but she scratched at her collarbone instead.
She flashed me a toothy smile.
“Well, that’s nice,” Frigg said, louder than needed. “You two have a nice, private dinner. C’mon, Odin. Let Ryder and Delaney,” and she upped the volume just a bit, “have a niceprivatedinner.”
There was a split second of silence in the store, then I heard shopping cart wheels spin and clack, voices mumble, and the general commotion of people moving through the store toward the exits.
Odin made a shorthumphsound then reached around Ryder and snagged a six pack of Pirate Stout. “Have a good dinner, you two. Frigg?” He held up the beer. “Cold one?”
“I’m not buying a statue,” she said.
“Did I say I wanted you to?”
“Every time I see you.”
He aimed his cart toward the check out, and Frigg strolled along next to him.
“I can find someone else who likes beer,” he grumbled.
Frigg chuckled. “You are so easy sometimes.” She tossed a bag of chips into Odin’s cart, plucked up a jar of salsa, hesitated over cheap queso, then grabbed it.
“Oh, and Ryder?” Frigg spun. She was walking backward, still pacing Odin. “Don’t be such a jerk to Delaney, or Crow won’t be the only one having words with you.” She waved, turned, then they were around the corner and out of sight.
Ryder scowled. “How am I the bad guy here?”
I bit back a small smile. “Gods, right?”
He cleared his throat. “Any chance we can go back to being annoyed at Crow? Maybe add whatever that was with Frigg and Odin?”
“Yeah. I’m still angry about Mithra. But you know that, I remind you about it enough. And Crow’s always been a little…” I wobbled my hand back and forth to show he was walking a thin line too.
“We’re good then?” he asked.
“We’re good.”
We stood there like a couple of dorks, staring into each other’s eyes.
Then a woman, who was not a god, came down the aisle. She had a cell phone pressed to her ear and was reading off every brand and name in an east coast accent.
“Dinner, right?” I asked, uncomfortable with how hopeful it sounded.
