“Of course. Why would I joke about a nutritionist?”
“You’re crazy.”
Fair. I shrug.
“Dad.”
“It’s true. What woman her age hasn’t been to the supermarket?”
“You haven’t been to the supermarket ever?” Creed gapes at me. “Where do you buy your potato chips and candy?”
How do I tell him that the only time I ate junk food was with friends and they bought it…almost like they were my dealers?
“Do you think a woman who looks like that eats chips or candy?” Creed’s father asks.
“I’ve eaten chips and candy.” They were an integral part of our club meetings in the beginning, before Cordelia began to bake.
“Oh, really? What is your favorite kind?”
“Well, I like this European chocolate—”
Creed laughs.
That did sound a little snooty. “—and the orange chips.”
“Orange chips?” Creed chokes out between laughs. “Orange chips.”
“You know what I mean. The ones that pretend to taste like cheese but really don’t taste like cheese, but they’re really good.”
“Was that because you went to private school? Dad, did you know that Greer went to an all-girls school? We need one of those in Silent Valley. Then maybe I could find a girlfriend.”
“Or you could just visit Willow Street.”
Both men turn towards me. One with anger and one with interest.
Did I really blurt that out? It’s just that Mindy is always talking about all the teenagers who live on Willow Street. After what they’ve been through, the girls there could use a good guy like Creed. “Never mind.”
“You can’t just drop that bomb and then step away. Tell me about this mecca of women.”
“Creed, respect.” His dad flips over the eggs. “How do you like yours, Greer?”
“Seriously, I didn’t come over for anything except directions to the local market. Nothing came up when I searched.”
“That’s cause Mr. Timmons hates the internet. He basically hates all technology. He won’t even use a calculator. Waiting for him to figure out your total can take half an hour.” Creed grins and slides two crepes onto his plate.
“Why do you go there?” People want to check out faster, not slower.
“Because it’s Mr. Timmons. He’s owned the grocery store since before I was born. You’ll understand when you meet him. I can take you shopping after school if you like.”
What? No. That’s pretty pathetic. A teenage boy thinks I need someone to take me to the supermarket. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I just need an address.”
“I’ll take Greer.” Creed’s dad takes the frying pan off the burner and puts the eggs on Creed’s plate.
Um, what? No. “That’s okay—”
“We can go right after breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”
“Seriously, I wasn’t—”
