“Not happening,” I argue, opening the door to my Cherokee and preparing to climb inside.
“It could,” she sings, giggling as she climbs inside and shuts the door. Before I can slip inside my own vehicle, her driver’s window rolls down and she hollers, “Make sure you share all the details tomorrow.”
“There will be no details to share,” I yell, shutting my door and shaking my head.
I pull out of the small lot the employees use and head toward the small grocery store. It’s not much, carrying the basics you’d need and prices higher than you’d find at a big box store, but it serves its purpose. I’ve caught wind that many residents try to support the small mom and pop store as much as they can, while still taking advantage of the cheaper prices when needed. After living here a short time, I’ve found myself shopping there a handful of times for a night or two of dinners or to get a few things to take to work for my lunch.
The grocery store is only a block off the main road and has its own parking lot. Since it’s just after five, the lot is fuller than usual, most likely thanks to other residents doing exactly what I’m doing—stopping on their way home from work.
I park in the second row and head for the front entrance. Once inside, I retrieve a basket to carry my purchases, knowing I won’t need the capacity of a cart. I really only need a handful of items, and I take off in search of those.
My first stop is the chip aisle. Usually, I wouldn’t mind making a homemade queso dip, but to be honest, after the long afternoon and heavy emotional baggage I’ve been carrying, I want something quick and easy. So, jarred dip it is. I find what I’m looking for and grab a bag of tortilla chips to go with it.
But then an idea hits me, and I make my way to the meat section. This is totally cheating, but if my goal tonight is a quick and easy meal, then this option will suffice. I move to where they keep prepackaged, prepared meats and find what I’m looking for. It’s a container of pull pork coated in Jack Daniels barbecue sauce. If I had time to cook my own pulled pork, I would, but unfortunately, that’s not in the cards tonight.
So this will have to do.
I head toward the back of the store next, grabbing a small container of sour cream before walking to the fresh vegetables and finding two jalapeños that are perfectly ripe. My stomach growls at the thought of the pulled pork nachos I’d be having for dinner, even after enjoying such a large, homemade lunch earlier at the diner. Usually, I might have something small, like a chicken salad sandwich or an egg and cheese sandwich, but I’m about to engage in eating my feelings, and that requires a big plate of comfort.
Once I have everything I need, I make my way toward the last aisle near the register. Originally, I was going to grab a bottle of wine, but as I scour the selection of liquor, my eyes settle on a bottle of tequila and the strawberry mix sitting beside it.
“I’m more of a lime or peach man myself, but I guess I could settle for a strawberry margarita instead.”
“Salt or sugar?” I ask, turning to face Cade.
He makes a face of horror. “People ruin a margarita by rimming the glass with sugar?”
I nod in confirmation.
“That’s a travesty.”
“Agreed,” I reply.
He looks down at my basket. “Taco Tuesday?”
“Isn’t every night Taco Tuesday?” I ask. Mexican is my absolute favorite, and I’d eat some sort of Mexican entrée every night if I could.
Cade’s face shows surprise as his mouth gapes open. “Marry me.”
“What?” I ask with a bark of laughter.
“I’m in love with you,” he states, earning an eye roll.
“You’re nuts.”
“Surprisingly, you’re not the first person to tell me that,” he replies, offering a cheesy grin. “On a serious note, I take it it’s a nachos and tequila kinda night?”
“Yeah.” I turn my attention to the alcohol, noting the four different brands of tequila.
Cade steps forward, standing directly beside me. His woodsy scent tickles my nose as he reaches up and points. “If I might make a suggestion, get this one. It doesn’t burn like the cheap shit and doesn’t cost an arm and a leg like that one.”
I take in the brand he’s suggesting and nod. “Thanks,” I say, reaching for a bottle and then grabbing the strawberry mix on the shelf beside it.
When I have everything I need, I turn to face him and find his eyes sparkling. “So…taking Taco Tuesday to the boyfriend?”
His question makes me shift uncomfortably. “Not tonight.”
He seems genuinely surprised by my reply. “No?”
