Something crossed Cathy's face. “Okay,” she said. She got up and pulled a notepad off the fridge, held there by a magnet shaped like a chili pepper, and started writing.
Greg watched her write.
Milk. Eggs. Bread. Yellow onions. Ground beef.
“Why yellow onions?” Greg asked.
Cathy looked up.
“As opposed to other onions,” Greg clarified. “Are they better? How many colors do onions come in?”
“Not too many colors,” Cathy said, eyeing Greg as ifshe wasn't sure if she was being messed with. “The yellow ones are sweeter.”
“Like ice cream? Or more like milkshake?”
“Neither.” Cathy tore the list off the notepad. “Garrett's should have everything,” she said, handing it to Dustin.
Garrett's. 414 Third Street.
“Great,” Greg said. Very cheerfully.
When the dishes were done, Dustin went to the living room and dropped onto the couch.
His shoulder ached. Everything ached, actually. He shouldn't have offered to go on a grocery run, but at least it wasn't an urgent task. Later would be soon enough.
He grabbed the remote with his good hand and started flipping through channels without really seeing them. He landed on some sort of renovation show and let it run.
It was weird to be back home.
Greg sitting down with him was a welcome distraction. Except that the little reaper sat too far away. He'd settled on the opposite end of the couch with his back straight and that stupid, forced smile still on his face.
Dustin reached over, grabbed Greg's wrist, and pulled.
Greg startled. “What?”
“Get closer.”
Greg looked at the space between them as though measuring it. Then, slowly, he shifted closer. Dustin loved the little yelp he made when Dustin pulled him into his lap, rearranging him so he sat with his back against the armrest and his legs across Dustin's thigh.
He blinked up at Dustin, lookinglost for a moment.
Dustin rested his hand on Greg's shin. “Something wrong?”
Greg looked away, gaze settling on the TV. It showed people swinging sledgehammers at walls.
“Why are they doing that?” Greg asked.
“It's a renovation show.”
“They don't look like they have a plan.” Greg stared at the screen. “That was a perfectly functional kitchen, and they're destroying it.”
“They're replacing it with something better.”
“You can't know that. They haven't built the new one yet.”
Dustin's thumb traced a slow line along Greg's ankle.
Why was his reaper freaking out over a TV show?
