“Good,” he said, releasing my chin. “Let’s get going, then.”
I looked down at my dirt covered clothes, grimacing. Great. Just what I wanted, heading out in rags that screamed “I’ve been scrubbing floors all day.” My fingers itched to brush off the grime, but I didn’t dare move too much, not with him watching.
The air between us was taut, every step toward the door heavy with unspoken warnings and the kind of tension that made mypulse spike. I hated how aware I was of him, and I hated even more that I couldn’t stop it.
“Where are we going?” I asked, desperate to break the silence.
“I think we’re both getting tired of frozen pizza and cereal,” he said. “I’m not sure if the morons who bring the groceries have ever stepped foot in a supermarket before this.”
“Stefano and Gianni?” I said, tilting my head.
“I told them not to stick around after they delivered the groceries,” he grumbled, a scowl tugging at his features. “Idiots. Can’t be trusted to do anything without making a mess.”
“Oh, they can be quite talkative.”
I had actually found out a lot of useful information from the two. They would accidentally let things slip in casual conversation, like what Felix liked to eat, his hobbies, or the little habits he had that made him… well, him. Most of the time, they didn’t even realize what they were saying.
“Talkative, yes. But utterly useless. That’s the problem,” he sighed, grabbing the car keys. “Let’s go.”
I followed him to the sleek black car parked just outside, my fingers brushing against the cool metal as I slid into the passenger seat. My dirt-streaked clothes itched against my skin, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was far too filthy to be in a car this nice. Every crease, every smudge felt painfully obvious, and I was hyper-aware of how out of place I looked next to him.
The engine hummed to life, and we pulled out onto the street. I tried to focus on the passing city lights, but my mind kept drifting to him—his scowl, his smirk, the way he moved. Even sitting here, confined in this car with him, I felt exposed. Grocery shopping sounded simple enough, but with Felix, nothing ever felt simple.
We pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, and I hesitated a fraction before opening the door. My dirt-streaked clothes itched against my skin, and I felt ridiculously out of place in thesleek car. Felix, of course, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care. He stepped out, keys in hand, and motioned for me to follow.
I knew we were just in a grocery store, but I felt like I was at an all expense paid vacation in Jamaica. Any scenery that wasn’t the decrepit house felt like a small escape. My chest loosened slightly, and I let myself breathe a little easier, though I knew it was temporary.
We moved down the first aisle, the cart rolling with a soft squeak. I reached for a bag of apples, and just as my fingers brushed the plastic, his hand shot out to grab it too.
“Need some help deciding?” he asked, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I think I can handle apples,” I said, trying to sound annoyed, though my chest had other ideas. Our hands lingered a second too long over the bag.
He chuckled, low and amused, and grabbed a single orange instead. “Fine, but if that bag turns out bad, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I rolled my eyes, but the corners of my mouth twitched. “I’ll risk it. Someone has to know what they’re doing around here.”
We moved down the next aisle, and I noticed how meticulous he was with the selection—checking labels, tapping jars, scanning expiration dates. I found myself watching, noting the little habits that made him… him.
“You really take this seriously, huh?” I said, nodding toward the rows of neatly stacked pasta.
He glanced at me, smirk softening into something almost like amusement. “Somebody has to. Otherwise, chaos.”
I laughed quietly, a sound I hadn’t realized I’d been holding back. “And here I thought the mafia was all danger and guns.”
“Danger, guns,” he said, tilting his head, “and perfectly cooked pasta.”
For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of us, a cart, and the fluorescent-lit aisles. It was absurd, and yet, in that absurdity, it felt almost normal—and for the first time in hours, I let myself relax just a little.
I glanced at him as he examined a jar of pasta sauce, the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly when he couldn’t decide which one to pick. Something in that small, ordinary gesture made him seem… human. Not the dangerous, unpredictable Felix I knew.
“You really overthink everything,” I said, a teasing lilt to my voice.
He shot me a sideways look, smirk tugging at his lips. “And you don’t?”
I laughed, the sound soft and surprisingly easy. “I try not to, but clearly not as well as you.”
He almost chuckled, and for a heartbeat, the edge in his eyes softened. We moved down the aisle together, brushing past each other occasionally in the narrow space, and I realized that even the smallest touches—the accidental brush of his hand on mine, the way we mirrored each other’s movements—felt charged. Somehow, in the middle of canned goods and fluorescent lights, we were finding a rhythm, a shared understanding that went unspoken but unmistakable.
