“Okay, ten,” Poppy says, reaching almost the centre of the aisle. We’re in sauces and spices. She lifts her toque up and looks around, puzzled.
“Choose wisely, Poppy. The sauce can make or break the meal,” I warn.
She scrunches her face at me, hands on her hips, and something in me melts.
She’s so fucking cute.
Poppy goes back to examining the sauces, and selects one, bringing it back to place it in my basket.
The rules of the game used to be that whoever was shopping had to carry it, and therefore the implication was that we couldn’t get more than what we could carry, but I know Poppy’s wrists bother her the most when she has to carry anything heavy, so I left that part out.
“Honey mustard?” I ask, almost alarmed. “Bold choice, Pops.”
“That’s my pick,” she says with a broad smile. “You have to trust me.”
I cross my arms, my biceps bulging. “I think you’re just trying to sabotage me since I’m cooking.”
“That doesn’t sound like the competitive, cocky, Jett Landry I know.”
Poppy steps forward, into my space, and my pulse races at her nearness. Her poking and prodding makes me want to scoop her up and walk her straight back to her apartment, fuck her senseless.
“Show me what you got,” I say instead, and gesture for her to put her blindfold back on.
I lead her to the next aisle and give her a number. Sixteen this time. She takes the steps and finds herself in the aisle where she takes off her blindfold.
She gives me a cheeky grin and taps her chin as if she’s thinking about which ingredient will be the hardest to incorporate into a meal.
Holding up the bag she’s picked up off the shelf, she walks back to me triumphant. Stir fry noodles. I flash her an impressed look, and we carry on.
We move through the store, selecting a few produce items and a protein, and then I take her to the candy aisle.
“The meal isn’t complete without a sweet treat.” I get her ready at the end of the aisle again. “But this time, no looking when you pick your item.”
She huffs a breath, and I whisper the number in her ear, and as she takes her slow and steady strides down the aisle, I hurry ahead of her and stand where I hope she’ll end up.
“I don’t even know which direction to go!” She shouts,as if I’m still standing at the end of the aisle and not right next to her.
Poppy puts her arms out in front of her and turns in the opposite direction to me, so I duck around her and move to the other side of the aisle.
She reaches out to select a bag of candy and ends up grabbing my shirt instead.
“Jett!”
She stumbles a little, not expecting me to be there, and I catch her, my arms circling her waist. That goofy toque is still covering her eyes, but I don’t need to see her face to know that she’s blushing, that her breath hitches at the way I’ve caught her.
Before she can remove it, I plant my lips on her mouth and she smiles against mine as she kisses me back.
When I’m with her, nothing else matters. When I’m with her I just can’t help but smile, even when we’re kissing. That’s the feeling I get with Poppy, the reason that this—all of this—is so different with her.
Even when there’s problems, when things aren’t easy.
That’s when it hits me.
Being with someone you love means that you double your joy and half your sorrow. Facing difficult things with someone else is easier, not harder. Poppy has learned to lean on me when she feels unwell, maybe I can learn to open myself up, too.
Poppy’s body melts into me, relaxing and allowing me to hold her, and something hits me right in the chest, it’s solid, knocking the air out of my lungs.
I don’t want this marriage to end.
