Even though I’m still annoyed about the lecture they tried to spring on me, I grab the list and we’re out the door, headed to the special hell that is the pre-holiday grocery store.
“Daaaaamn.” Gabe looks around the chaos of the Trader Joe’s parking lot in horror. “If I die here, tell my story.”
“In poetry and song,” I promise.
Ten minutes later we’ve managed to fight through the crowds to claim a parking spot and a shopping cart, and we’re dodging and weaving down the crowded aisles in search of ricotta cheese for the lasagna and marshmallows for the sweet potato casserole and bagel chips for the Chex mix, all while the Christmas soundtrack from hell blares overhead.
“I swear to God, if we have to go to a second store for one lousy item,” I mutter darkly over “The Little Drummer Boy,” but Gabe just laughs and swerves the cart around two forty-something men arguing over which green bean casserole recipe to use that year.
“We’ll do it, and we’ll be nice about it because your mom’s making Christmas happen for your whole family.”
His cheerfulness in the face of this hot, crowded store is humbling. “Good thing you’re not actively trying to win over my parents. You’d claim favorite child status in a heartbeat.”
“Good to know I’d be popular withsomebody’sparents.”
He doesn’t slow the cart down, so I’m left unsure of how serious he is. I link my arm through his anyway. “I’m sorry. I know you said things are better with them, but it sucks that it’s still maybe not where you want it to be.”
We walk a few more steps before he speaks. “Thanks. I keep trying, and they’re trying too. I’m just never going to be what my dad imagined I’d be.”
There’s really nothing to say to that, so I try to lighten the mood.
“Have you considered showing them your dance moves?”
He turns his hottest gaze on me. “Those moves are for you and you only.”
The pretty face and that growly voice? Forget it. I’m toast. I’m so toast that I almost walk into an endcap of holiday baking supplies, but he grabs my elbow and stops me just in time.
I’m about to beg him to toss me into the bed of his truck and have his way with me when a voice asks, “Darby?”
I turn around to see a blond with a severe bob smiling at me from the other side of a full shopping cart. “Oh, hey.” My brain spins and spins and finally coughs up a name. “Hey, Shelly!”
“Good to see you!” My old high school classmate doesn’t even try to be subtle as she checks out the man standing next to me. “And who’s this? Last I heard you were single as a dollar bill.”
“Wow, that’s… vivid,” I say through my teeth. “This is my boyfriend Gabe.”
He does a little salute, and even though the move is dorky, what matters most is that he looks fucking hot while he does it.
“Wow! Good for you, girl.” Shelly’s gaze lingers on him a little longer than it should before she addresses me again. “Hey, a group of us are headed to Barney’s for drinks tonight. You should come! Eight o’clock. Bring your man.”
“Wow, okay. We’ll see.”
We’re causing a traffic jam in the narrow aisle, so we say goodbye and head our separate ways. Gabe doesn’t bring it up until we’ve survived the checkout line and loaded half the store into his truck bed.
“What do you think? Should we go?”
He helps me up into the passenger seat, and although most of me wants to avoid any crowded pre-Christmas bar situation, a tiny part of me wants to be part of a happy couple in my hometown.
“Maybe,” I say.
In the end we do have to go to a second grocery store for those damn bagel chips, but Mom’s so grateful when we get home that I’m glad Gabe guilted me into it. We spend the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, stirring and mixing and baking and tasting. Mom pops in and out, but for the most part she’s happy to leave us in charge of snacks and desserts to tide everyone over for the next couple of days. Gabe turns out to be a happy chef, and I’m equally happy to watch him work.
When the time comes for him to start putting together the lasagna, he chases me out of the kitchen.
“Listen.” He grabs me by the shoulders before I go and gives me a gentle shake. “I’m going to do something terrible to make your family hate me. The less you know the better, but I apologize in advance.”
“Oh.” Right. Yeah. Him spending hours stirring Chex mix and rolling out sugar cookie dough isn’t exactly dirtbag boyfriend behavior. He’s smart to keep us on track.
For a second, I want to tell him to drop it and just be himself. And then I remember Shelly’s surprise at seeing that I have an actual, living boyfriend, and irritation heats my blood. We’re carrying this plan over the finish line, even if it feels dumber and dumber as time goes on. The hell with anybody who’s ever pitied me for being single. I’ve got this brilliant deviant at my side to show them how miserable settling can be for everyone around them.
