“Due to my superior potato instincts,” Ms. Brandy says. “It was the best damn soup you’ve ever tasted. Although I can’t say it wasallbecause of the potatoes. Missy here makes amazing soups.”
“Wait, I didn’t catch that. Did you say coming home? Are you two living together now?”
I can almost feel the thousand needles Ms. Cook will be poking into her voodoo doll before she goes to sleep tonight.
Ms. Brandy leans in. “How many potatoes d’you need, sweetheart?”
Shit! Well, that didn’t work.
It’s not that I mind if people see Beckett and me doing whatever it is we’re doing, but these two… They’re like gossip stations. If I don’t want them setting Beckett up on a date, I’m gonna have to give them something.
“Two,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near suspicious.
“All right,” she says, sifting through. “What you wanna look for is smooth, dry skin. If it’s wrinkly and soft, then no bueno. What size?”
“Ahhh, I don’t know. Beckett never told me.”
“I’d go with large,” she decides. “You two look like you can handle a decent amount in your mouths.”
I blackout for half a second.
She presses two perfect potatoes into my hands. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” I croak.
“Anytime. And when you see Beckett at the butcher counter, tell him to give me a call. I’ve got a question.”
Absolutely not. Oh no, my brain has mysteriously forgotten what she said. Whatever will I do?
“Of course,” I lie, smiling at Ms. Brandy and giving Ms. Cook a curt nod before executing a tactical retreat.
Back near the dairy aisle, Beckett is waiting with a suspiciously innocent look. “You owe me,” I mutter, dropping the potatoes into the cart.
“Did you at least use your scary Dom face?” he asks.
“I have a scary Dom face?”
“We’ll circle back,” he says, picking up a potato. He inspects it. “Damn. She nailed it. Great size. Nice skin.”
I cock my head. What the fuck is going on?
“What can I say? She has a touch of magic when it comes to picking potatoes.”
“How does one even get the magic touch for potatoes? That seems like an odd talent.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. This one time, the warehouse belonging to the supply company we normally buy our potatoes from flooded. They lost everything. Ugh, all that food wasted. Anyway, she overheard me on the phone yelling at the delivery guy. When I hung up the phone, she was right in front of my face, like a spiderweb. She kept trying to tell me about her Aunt Martha’s alpaca farm. I couldn’t shake her, so when she told me she had a special talent for picking out potatoes, I took the chance to get her to leave my kitchen. She came back with the best potatoes for making french fries.”
“I still say they’re nosy,” I mutter. “You know they kidnapped Alex the night Jasper fainted?”
“Worked out, didn’t it?” he says. “Chester found a home. Chaos runs on community service.”
“Hey, Dom,” Anthony calls from behind the meat counter as we roll up.
“Hey, Anthony.”
“Beck, I’ve got your steaks here, freshly butchered.”
“Thanks, Tony.”
