Smiling, I follow my precious Mirabelle to the produce section and watch her methodologically go through each aisle in accordance with the shopping list neatly printed on her clipboard. I spend the first half of our trip thoroughly enjoying myself amid brief snatches of envying her pen whenever she taps it against her perfect pink lips.
Then, disaster strikes.
“Mira, fancy meeting you here.”
“Jeffry,” she says, startled, but suddenly smiling brightly.
Jeffryapproaches with a cart full of garbage—a case of beer, chips, dip, microwave pizzas. Whatever happens to my face makes the man stop short the moment he sees me. “Uh…who are you with?”
Mirabelle’s precious smile strains as she steps aside so she’s no longer separating us. “Jeffry, meet my boss. Mr. Anders, this is Jeffry Wilkin.”
“Charmed,” I grumble.
“You’re…shopping with your boss?” Jeffry asks, and something about his tone grates on my nerves.
Light as air, Mirabelle laughs. “Well, I…couldn’t stop him.”
Judging, Jeffry sizes me up, and his grip on his cart tightens. Relaxing some, he moves his attention back to Mirabelle. “The guys are coming over tonight, if you’d like to stop by.” His finger taps against his cart handle. “Fawn can come, too, if she’d like.”
“Sounds fun!”
I flinch.
“Fawn probably won’t be interested, per usual, but I’d love to. Anything you’d like me to bring this time?”
Thistime?
The way the corner of Jeffry’s mouth lifts makes me murderous. He catches my eye and holds my gaze. “Anything you’d like. The cookies you madelast timewere great. I like brownies.”
“Brownies,” Mirabelle murmurs, checks the cart, smiles brighter. “I can do brownies.”
“Great. Looking forward to them. See you at the same time as always.” He starts forward, stopping when we’re side by side. Speaking to her, he looks me dead in the eye. “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll pick up some vodka and Kahlua to make your chocolate drink.”
“Yay! I appreciate it.”
“No problem. See you.” The smug look on his face as he passes makes me want to punch him, but I refrain. I refrain, even though my knuckles crack when I close my hands into fists.
“Brownies…” Mirabelle whispers, assessing her shopping list. “I’ll need chocolate chips.” Brilliantly beautiful, she turns to me. “We need to backtrack a little bit.”
“You’re going out tonight?” I ask.
“Yeah, every Friday night Jeffry and some friends get together at his place and watch something or play video games. They invite me sometimes.”
“And there’s drinking?”
“Mhm.”
“And you drink?”
“Jeffry mixes up Mudslides for me.”
Mudslides?“Aren’t those strong?”
“I don’t know. I think they just taste like a milkshake. I’m careful and don’t drive home until the fuzzy feeling goes away.”
Oh. So. She’s therehalf the night, then?
Oblivious, she says, “I’m very good at following rules.”
