“You couldn’t pay me to eat your cooking. I’ve seen you try.”
He makes an offended noise, but when I glance back, there’s amusement playing at the corner of his mouth.
We move through the store in a strange rhythm. I lead, he follows, and occasionally he reaches over my head to grab something from a high shelf without being asked. I pretend I don’t feel him hovering against my back when he does.
I’m comparing bottles of burgundy when a voice cuts through the store.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite brother and his new roommate.”
I spin around to find Alex Calloway leaning against an endcap display, grinning like a cat who found the cream. Wavy brown hair artfully disheveled, popped collar under a cashmere sweater.
Lance sighs. “Alex.”
“Don’t sound so excited. You’ll make me blush.” Alex saunters toward us, eyes bouncing between Lance and me. “You know, Aristotle once said the quality of life is determined by its activities. So tell me, what quality of life is this?”
“Grocery shopping,” I say. “Very scandalous.”
Alex clutches his chest. “She speaks! And she’s funny! You’ve served me drinks and I never knew you were funny. Lance, where have you been hiding this one?”
“She’s Art’s girlfriend,” Lance says. “You know that.”
“And yet here she is, shopping for groceries with you.” Alex’s grin widens.
“How’d you even know she was staying with me?”
“If you’d read our group chat, you’d know that obviously it was Jules.” He shrugs and then leans against the shelves. “You know, I always found it fascinating how the lines between helping and something more can get so blurry. Proximity breeds familiarity. Familiarity breeds comfort. And comfort…” He waggles his eyebrows. “Comfort can breed all sorts of things.”
“Alexander James Calloway, if you don’t stop terrorizing innocent shoppers, I will personally ensure your name never appears on another cast list in this state.”
Felicity emerges from the end of the aisle, blond hair swept back in a neat ponytail and a Second Circle Market apron tied around her waist. Her eyes take in the scene—Alex lounging, Lance murderous, me wishing the floor would open up.
“Fee.” Alex beams. “Light of my life. Have you come to rescue me from my brother’s glowering?”
“I’ve come to tell you that if you knock over that cider display one more time, my mom will ban you for life.”
Alex gasps. “She wouldn’t.”
“We’re in the red zone, Alex.” Felicity’s gaze shifts to me. “Hey, Ginny. Finding everything okay?”
“Yeah, just grabbing stuff for dinner. For Art,” I add, because apparently I can’t stop clarifying. “Welcome-home meal.”
“Mmhm.” Her eyes flick to Lance. “And Lance is helping you shop for your boyfriend’s dinner?”
“He drove.”
“From his place,” Alex adds, grinning. “Where they’re both staying.”
“Alex. Shut up,” Lance says.
“I’m merely observing. Making keen insights. Like a detective. Or a philosopher. A detective-philosopher, if you will.”
Lance pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you done?”
Alex sidles closer to me, lowering his voice. “Tell me, Ginny, what’s it like living with my brother? Full sentences, or does he communicate exclusively in grunts and long exasperated sighs?”
I laugh. “Mostly grunts. Though occasionally I get a full syllable if I’m lucky.”
Alex’s eyes light up, and Lance’s brow quirks.
