Grey gestures toward the door. “By all means.”
He trails me while I locate the sugar, vanilla, and chocolate chips.
“Okay, all set.”
He eyes the items in my arms. “When was the last time you ate something grown in a garden? Something green?”
“Do mint-filled chocolate cookie sandwiches count?”
Grey looks like he’s concerned for my health.
“I’m kidding. I had a salad last night with dinner, remember?”
A little twinge inside suggests I’m disappointed he didn’t notice that I’d been a good girl and ate my greens because I sure noted the way he tore into his tenderloin...and how he handled the ice cream earlier.
While we wait at the checkout, I explain the cookie dough replacement ingredients.
“You know you’re supposed to cook the dough, right?”
“No, I didn’t get that memo.”
“Well, that explains why you like your steak rare, barely cooked.”
I frown. “You’re one to talk. Yours was practically bloody.” But my lips reverse course because he did notice what I ate. I’m not sure why that should matter. But I guess being invisible most of my life, and now trying to get off the radar insofar as Todd is concerned, makes me want to be selectively seen—but why by Grey?
His lips quirk and I realize that once more, I lost the thread of our conversation and didn’t hear something he said.
I glance at the last-minute items available at the checkout. “I prefer mints over gum.”
He gives his head a little shake as if to say If this were a game of hot or cold, I’m freezing.
“The Great Gatsby is a literary masterpiece.”
“Never read it.”
“You’re missing out.” Trying again, “Rainy summer days are a delight.”
“Not even close.”
I refuse to break and admit I didn’t hear his question or comment, but it’s my turn to pay. I demonstrate impeccable people skills with the cashier, making me feel like a slightly better coach than I was a minute ago.
When we exit the store, Grey starts to say something, but the call of my name drowns it out. With Todd’s threats fresh in my mind and because the voice is low and hoarse, my chest constricts, but thankfully, it belongs to a female.
A woman with a shock of white hair opens her arms wide. “Everly!”
“Goodie!”
We exchange a hug like we’ve been best friends for decades and haven’t seen each other in nearly that long.
“My sister and I haven’t stopped talking since I arrived. I’ve practically lost my voice.” She presses her hand to her throat.
“I take it the surprise visit worked out nicely?”
She nods. “Marvelous. A real treat. But who do we have here? He looks like the Viking.”
My cheeks heat. She must’ve seen me drawing in the Cookie Dough Diary when we were on the plane.
In my head, I spin a story about my grand imagination. Out loud, I say, “You have a good eye. Found him on the seashore and figured I’d help him clean up—learn to be civilized.”
