“Does it have more than three buttons?” I ask.
He glances at the machine, a gleaming chrome beast with a dozen glowing lights and a touchscreen. “It has a dedicated button for a ‘flat white’ and another one for a ‘ristretto.’ So, yes.”
“Then it’s too complicated for pre-caffeine mornings,” I declare.
Rett looks like he might argue, but then seems to think better of it. “Fine. A grocery store run. We can go to?—”
“No,” I cut him off, waving my pen at him. “Not some fancy organic boutique market where everything costs triple and comes with a biography of the artisan who touched it. A regular grocery store. With regular prices. And coupons.”
“Coupons,” Rett repeats.
“I know you’re allergic to discounts, but the rest of us mortal folk use them.”
Tristan snorts, clearly enjoying Rett’s discomfort. “I haven’t used a coupon since... well, years.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” I say, continuing my list. “You’re going to experience how the other ninety-nine percent live.”
“I don’t think this is necessary,” Rett tries again. “We can just?—”
“It’s either this or I starve,” I counter. “And if I starve, I get cranky. And trust me, none of you wants to see me cranky.”
The four of them exchange glances again, having one of those silent alpha conversations that I’m not privy to. Finally, Rett sighs.
“Fine,” he concedes. “But we take the SUV. And security.”
“It’s a grocery store,” I point out. “But fine. Whatever makes you feel better.”
Dane nods, already pulling out his phone, presumably to arrange said security. Diego looks genuinely excited, like a kid going to an amusement park. Tristan is still grinning, clearly enjoying this disruption to their routine.
And Rett... Rett is staring at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. It’s part frustration, part fascination, and something else entirely that makes my stomach do a little flip.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Just... this isn’t how I expected this morning to go.”
“Well, life’s full of surprises,” I say lightly. “Like finding out your kitchen is a food desert, or waking up to a pancake that could be used as a weapon.”
Diego groans. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Not a chance,” I confirm, adding ‘pancake mix’ to my growing list. “Now, does anyone have any actual food allergies or dietary restrictions I should know about? Or can I just go wild in the cereal aisle?”
“No allergies,” Diego answers.
“Tristan refuses to eat mushrooms because he thinks they’re ‘too squishy,’” Rett offers, ignoring Tristan’s betrayed look.
“They’re fungus,” Tristan defends himself.
“Noted,” I say, adding ‘NO MUSHROOMS’ to the list. “Anyone else have any food quirks I should know about?”
“Dane only eats the red Skittles,” Tristan volunteers. “He separates them out like a serial killer.”
Dane shrugs, not denying it.
“And Rett doesn’t eat anything blue,” Diego adds.
I look up from my list, quirking one eyebrow. “Blue? Like... blueberries?”
“No, artificial blue,” Rett clarifies. “Blue candies, blue sports drinks, blue frosting. It’s?—”
