"You heard me." When I don't move, he takes my hand and peels my fingers back, pressing the fob to my palm before curling my fist around it. "Stop acting like you can't make sense of what I'm saying. You're a smart woman and this is all pretty straightforward."
I swallow, unable to come up with another argument. At least not one I'm likely to win.
I'm not an idiot. I'm aware my car isn't in great shape. It's old, and while I've kept up the maintenance on it, it's reached a point where major pieces need replacing. And that hasn't been in my budget to do. But there's no way in hell I'm taking over Jovi's truck either. Well, not beyond this outing anyway. He's not wrong. We need groceries and this day is quickly slipping away from us.
So, I huff, and give in.
Between the two of us, it only takes a minute to get both kids strapped in their seats and then we're finally on the road. Cedar Hill is a small town in terms of population, but Serendipity Ranch sits on the outskirts, and getting to the grocery store takes nearly thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of listening to Gavin's favorite audiobook. Four and a half times. Because it's a short children's book.
Remmi is a good sport about it. Areallygood sport. I see her mouthing the words as it plays, having memorized the entire tale.
Jovi and I don't exchange a single word. Nor do we so much as look at each other. The no contact pact we seem to have made in the driveway continues when we reach the store and he takes it upon himself to secure us a cart. I find myself tempted to grab one of my own, but even I can recognize that's stubborn, hyper-independent-psychotic-behavior. Not to mention, childish.
For a while we wander the aisles, adding items to our collection, both of us limiting out interactions to those with the kids. Gavin sits perched in the seat of the cart while Remmi walksalong beside me, holding my hand. It's not lost on me the image we must portray, Jovi pushing the cart and me at his side, the kids between us. It's bizarre. How normal the picture appears and how wrong it all is beneath the surface.
I'm still dwelling on the agonizing absurdity of it all when we turn the corner down the frozen foods section and come to an abrupt halt.
"Liz?"
It takes my brain a second to catch up with my eyes. But then, "Brennan?"
My high school boyfriend.
His body has filled out and his features have matured, but the boy I knew is still visible in his light blue eyes and the broad smile he greets me with.
"I had no idea you were back in town," he says, shifting his basket from one hand to the other to reach out and give me a one-armed hug. When he steps back, his eyes cast down to where Remmi is still clutching my hand, then to where Gavin sits in the cart. "I heard what happened. I'm so sorry." His fingers slide down my arm and cling to my fingers, giving them a soft squeeze. "If there's anything I can do—"
"Thanks, but we've got it covered," Jovi cuts in before he can finish making his offer.
It's the first I see Brennan's gaze move to take him in. His broad smile turns forced and I remember that the two of them always seemed to have some sort of friction between them. I never did figure out why. Never cared enough to find out. I had my own issues with Jovi, so back then it felt like a common annoyance Brennan and I shared in. Now, it rubs me the wrong way and I can't begin to unpack why that is.
"Jovi Daniels. I guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you've found a way to involve yourself." The forced smile is accompanied by something that sounds an awful lot like a sneer.
Before Jovi can respond and this whole situation devolves from a friendly run-in to some regurgitated high school drama, I say, "Of course he's involved. Jovi is family." I'm not sure who's more surprised by my words. Jovi or me. So I rush to add, "Him and Trent have always been like brothers."
Brennan's smile shifts, turning genuine again as he redirects his focus to me. "If you're buying groceries, that mean you're going to be in town for a while?"
I nod. "I'm staying out at Serendipity."
"We both are," Jovi adds. "And one of us needs to get back to work a horse or two, so if you don't mind, we really need to return to our grocery list."
I shoot him a glare which he ignores. But Brennan notices and smirks. "Of course." His lingering fingers curl around mine one more time. "I'll call you." Then he smiles and releases my hand, not so much as acknowledging Jovi as he moves past us and leaves the aisle.
"Who wants ice cream?" Jovi asks the second Brennan has cleared the vicinity. An obvious ploy to distract me from laying into him about the way he treated the man.
Both kids start calling out flavors and it takes us at least ten minutes to settle on four, neither of which Jovi or I choose, before we can leave the frozen foods behind and stock up on produce.
By the time we leave the store, our cart is overflowing and we've spent nearly four hundred dollars. By far the most I've ever spent on groceries.
I remind myself that we needed more this time than I'll need week to week. Even so, I'll need to make serious adjustments to my monthly budget to accommodate feeding three instead of one. Add to that the difference in utility expenses when comparing a small apartment for a single woman to a house with three residents. Water is free since we have a well, but I imagine the power bill will be considerably higher than I'm used to paying.
Panic tightens my chest by the time we reach the truck. Everything has happened so fast. I committed to this without fully considering what it would mean. If it would actually be possible. Especially with my income taking a hit in the transition.
I make decent enough money. Maybe I never invested any of it in my car, but I've been able to live comfortably, afford a nice apartment and travel plenty for both business and pleasure. But is it enough to support a family of three? Can I make it stretch enough over the next year until the horse business can be relied on to cover the mortgage and provide essentials for the kids?
I buckle Remmi in on autopilot, then meet Jovi at the back of the truck to load up the groceries.
"You're spiraling," he says under his breath as he heaves half the contents of our cart onto the bed in one go.
