“The doorman. He loves me.”
Wyatt snorts. “Oh, by the way, I forgot. My mom texted earlier. She wants us to send Henry a grocery list for the week.”
“Nope,” I say stubbornly. “I already told my mom I don’t want Henry getting all our food. I’m buying my own groceries from now on.”
“All right, then let’s go to the supermarket tomorrow,” he says, and the following morning, we pile into the Jeep for a grocery shopping adventure.
We start in the cereal aisle. I trail after him while he pushes our cart. When he reaches for a box on the top shelf, I admire his bare arms. The golden tan. Sinewy muscles. Dark hair falling onto his forehead. I’m not the only one checking him out—every woman in our vicinity is mentally undressing him. In those faded, threadbare jeans and sleeveless Bruins T-shirt representing his dad, he’s the hottest guy in the store and probably the planet.
I stop to grab my favorite cereal, eliciting a stern reprimand from Wyatt.
“Seriously? No way. That’s not the cereal we’re buying.”
“But it’s nutritious.”
“Cereal should not be nutritious. It should be delicious.” He puts my healthy granola and oats cereal back on the shelf and grabs ahorrific sugary concoction instead. Dropping it in the cart, he rolls away, whistling to himself.
I stare at him in disbelief. “I didn’t agree to that!”
“Don’t care,” he says without turning around.
“You guys are a cute couple,” an amused voice remarks from behind me.
It belongs to a young woman around my age with dark skin and black hair arranged in two braids, a baseball cap atop her head. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” I ask at the same time as she says, “I know you.”
We both laugh.
“Are you local?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, but my family’s been coming here every summer since I was a kid. We just bought a place on the west shore a couple years ago. Blue boathouse with white trim?”
She brightens. “Oh, the Grahams.”
“Logans, actually. I’m Blake. My dad was teammates with Garrett Graham.” I keep studying her. “Why do you look so familiar to me? Areyoulocal?”
“I’m Annaliese Jackson. I live over in Dollar Point, but my brother Eddie spends a lot of time at your place in the summers. He’s friends with Beau.”
“Oh, shit. Yes. I know your family. Your parents are likethereal estate agents of Lake Tahoe.”
She grins, flashing a pair of deep dimples. “Just my mom. That’s her gorgeous face on all the signs. My dad is a developer. He builds most of the houses around here.”
We hear a wave of raucous laughter in the next aisle, and then a trio of young men round the corner.
“Liese!” one of them whines. “What the hell? Why’s it taking you so long to get a box of—” He stops when he notices me. “Oh, I see. Yes. I would also stop for her.” He flashes me a lopsided smile. “I would stop for you.”
I have to laugh. “Thanks.”
“These are my friends from college,” Annaliese says, quickly making the introductions.
The one who can’t stop checking me out is Clay. Preston is the tall, lanky one in the red 49ers cap. And the one pulling up the rear is Kuri, whose stunning face could stop traffic.
“We all just graduated,” Annaliese tells me. “So the boys came up for the week. Sort of like a graduation celebration.” She glances at her friends. “Blake is here for the summer.”
“Nice! We should chill,” Clay says immediately.
I shrug. “Sure.”
