“Is that more of the wedding prep?”
“Oh, um, yeah. Some. The Danishes are for me, though.”
He reaches over for one of the plastic checkout dividers and drops his stuff on the belt. Literally all he has is toothpaste and a toothbrush. Yeah, he would forget to pack those.
Shawn glances at my cart and frowns. “What Danishes?”
“Oh, um,” I say, and in that moment, realize I was so hypnotized by the icing that I forgot to get any. My cheeks flush full red, I’m sure. I can’t even think up a good excuse that makes sense to tell him, I just wave the thought off.
“Do you want me to go grab you some Danishes?”
“No, never mind what I said.”
His tone borders ontoopleasant. “It’s not a problem, they’re just over there.”
“No, I, uh, I forgot I decided against them.”
“It sounds like you still want them, subconsciously, maybe.”
“Oh my god, stop.”
I move strategically to the other end of the checkout, where the cashier is piling up my things after she scans them, the cart now between me and Shawn. He leans over the edge of my cart and puts the last couple things I had in there up on the belt and I try to focus on bagging everything up as the cashier passes it to me. It’s so hard.
Don’t stare. Seriously, don’t, I think, even as my vision snags on the way the fabric hangs precariously off one hip. Going over here was a mistake; all it did was make it easier to look directly at him. I swallow.
The moment everything I got is all bagged up and paid for, I leave. I’m not fleeing, I swear. But I do have a pint of ice cream and its staying frozen is suddenly a huge priority.
I pause right before the exit, glancing back at him one last time, and get stuck on what I see. The cashier girl is scribbling something down, and as she hands it to him I realize she wrote her number on the back of his receipt.
Holy shit.
I look away immediately. I have a number of feelings in that instant, none of them kind. That’s completely inappropriate, did he ask for it? But also, I should warn her about what he’s like, and maybe...
I swallow my feelings down. It’s none of my business.
I take a deep breath, and the grocery’s automatic doors close again. Shawn sees me standing at the exit and jogs over. Oh god, he’s going to think I waited for him. I mean, I kinda did. Not on purpose.
Catching up with a few strides, he asks, “Need help loading your car?”
Weakly, I swallow and nod. “Sure.”
Outside, he gets to my car first and opens up the trunk. I watch him start loading up bags, and all I can do is stare. It gnaws from the back of my brain until it’s at the forefront of my mind.
It’s none of my business. But it’s going to haunt me.
The question comes out without preamble or any semblance of an excuse. “Hey, did you, uh, date anyone since we...?”
I watch Shawn’s expression, the way he freezes ever so imperceptibly, when he suspects a question is a trap.
“Not because I’m, uh, jealous, or anything like that,” I say, and wince to hear myself say it. I find my arms crossed over my chest and maybe that’s a little too aggressive for this conversation. “I just. I was curious if anyone else had to go through what I did, with your family.”
He relaxes a little, the tension easing from his shoulders. He shakes his head. “Oh. No, no one else had to go through that. I wasn’t on speaking terms with my family.”
I nod. That is the answer I asked for, and yet, it’s not the one I wanted to know.
A beat goes by, and I prompt, “Because there wasn’t anyone...?”
His stupid, gorgeous eyes lift to hold mine, blinking those long dark eyelashes at me. “Do you think I haven’t slept with anyone in eight years?”
