His eyes flick over me briefly, taking me in, a smile curling his lips. Something in my chest tightens from his response.
He’s happy to see me.
“I didn’t know you shopped here,” I say lightly.
“It’s the only grocery store in town,” he says, glancing down at the list on his phone like it personally offends him. “I’m out of Doritos. And Ivy asked me to pick up a few things for dinner.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Doritos are important.”
“You got that right.” His mouth lifts at the corner, like he’s pleased I understood the assignment.
There’s a brief pause—comfortable, not awkward.
I let it stretch for a beat before asking, “How’s Mr. Pickles?”
Drew’s entire expression shifts. His shoulders relax. His smile comes easier.
“He’s still a menace,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “He knocked over an entire glass of water this morning just to prove a point.”
“He sounds misunderstood.”
Drew huffs out a quiet laugh. “I think he needs a psychiatrist.”
I laugh. “I don’t think Mr. Pickles would like that.”
“He definitely wouldn’t. Consider his hatred of people…” he gives me a pointed look. “I’m sure it would only end in destruction.”
I laugh. “I have faith in Mr. Pickles. He has discerning taste.”
His eyes linger on me a second longer than necessary, as if he’s trying to figure something out. Or maybe just enjoying the moment.
Either way, I don’t look away.
“What are you making?” I ask, nodding toward his cart.
He glances down at the list in his hand and the ingredients in the cart.
“That’s a great question,” he mutters. “I was told to get specific ingredients. Not what they’re for.”
“That’s a dangerous level of trust.”
“Tell me about it.” He shrugs. “But Ivy hasn’t poisoned me yet.”
“Thank goodness.”
We both laugh.
Then it fades and we stand there, staring at one another.
He shifts like he wants to say something.
I wait.
“Hey… uh... what are you doing tomorrow night?”
My pulse spikes, but my expression doesn’t change.
“Nothing planned,” I say, easily.
