Saturdayafternoongroceryshoppingin Pine Hollows is an exercise in patience. The single grocery store gets crowded with people doing their weekly shopping, and the narrow aisles make it impossible to avoid running into half the town. I’m debating between two different brands of coffee beans when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Careful, you keep running into me like this and people will talk.”
I turn around to find Sawyer pushing a cart that contains bread, a six-pack of beer, and what looks like the ingredients for actual cooking. My heart does a little skip. I'm still not used to the effect he has on me. He’s in plain clothes—dark jeans and a forest green henley that brings out his dark brown eyes.
“You’re the one following me, remember?” I shoot back, echoing our conversation from the gas station.
"Fair point." He grins, parking his cart next to mine. "Though in my defense, there are only so many places to shop in this town."
"You're not wrong. Unless you want to drive thirty minutes to Creeksprings for groceries."
"And miss out on fighting over the last box of cereal? Never." He glances at the coffee beans in my hands. "You into the fancy stuff?"
"Depends on what you mean by fancy. This is just regular coffee, but I'm picky about it."
"Ah, a woman with standards."
"When it comes to coffee, absolutely."
Something lights up in his expression. "You know, there's actually a local author doing a reading at the library Thursday evening."
"Really?" My interest is immediate. "I've never been to one before."
"Around six, I think. I should double-check." He pauses, then adds casually, "I could send you the details if you want."
“That would be great, actually. What’s your number?”
He rattles it off while I type it into my phone, and I can’t help but notice the slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“There,” I say, saving his contact. “Now I’ll actually know what’s happening in this town for once.”
"Don't worry, eventually you'll know everything that's going on whether you want to or not."
A woman pushing a cart past us does a double-take, her eyes flicking between Sawyer and me with undisguised curiosity. Small-town gossip starts exactly like this.
But walking through the store with him feels natural, comfortable, like we've done this before.
"So what's for dinner tonight?" I ask, gesturing at his cart. "Looks like you're actually cooking."
"Attempting to cook," he corrects. "Pasta with marinara sauce. Nothing too ambitious."
"So… spaghetti?"
"I like how I said it better." He grins. "Makes it sound more impressive."
I laugh. "Well, I've been guilty of making it a few times myself."
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, it’s just easy when you get home from a long day.”
"Tell you what," he says, stopping his cart near the checkout lanes. "If my pasta dinner is a disaster, I'm calling you for backup."
The offer catches me off guard. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”
We check out at neighboring registers, making small talk with the cashiers who clearly know both of us by name.
“Have a good evening, Alice,” the cashier says as she hands me my receipt. “Don’t work too hard at the bank.”
