Page 61 of Hearts on the Line

I reach into my back pocket and pull out the old receipt I scribbled my list on, and she giggles. “What?”

“Haven’t gone digital yet?”

I ignore her and pick out a bunch of bananas that are a tad too green. Everything is picked over, and I’m reminded that I need to try to make it to the farmers’ market this week before supper club.

She plucks the list out of my hand and twirls away, dashing down the short aisle of apples and oranges, before nearly bumping into Ruth.

“Ruth! Hi, again. How’s the paper this week?”

The older woman pulls away from Sloane’s sunny greeting and grumbles, stuffing a few apples into her reusable bag with a giant picture of her cat on it. She darts a glance my way before turning and adding a few oranges.

“Busy day. Need to go.” Ruth grips the bag, glaring at Sloane before she pulls down her visor. “Can’t miss bingo.”

“Have fun.” Sloane gives a little wave, but Ruth’s frown deepens.

When we’re alone, I lean in. “Don’t think she likes you much.”

Sloane slumps against the oranges. “I know.” I hate the ringing disappointment there.

“Come on,” I say, taking the cart. “What’s next on the list?”

“Eggs.”

We move through the store, her walking beside me as we chat about dumb TV shows, Wally’s undying love for Betty White, and that one concert we went to where it rained so hard her sandals floated off her feet in the parking lot, and I carried her on my shoulders.

When we pay, I’m struck by the ordinary night we’ve shared. We went for a drive and did errands, and that’s going to be our summer together.

As friends.

Sloane pulls a lime Popsicle from the box as I load the groceries into the trunk.

“What?” She shrugs. “Don’t want it to melt on the way home. Want one?”

“Here?”

“I never knew you to turn down a good time.”

“Things change. People change.”

Her lips wrap around it, slow and deliberate, and I swear she knows exactly what she’s doing. When she pulls it free with a loud pop, she grins like it’s another joke between us.

I’m two seconds away from being deadly serious.

“It’s only a Popsicle, Ethan.”

I grumble and swipe it from her. “I hope I’m different now. That’s all.” I stuff it into my mouth before I say something I can’t take back. It’s bright and sour on my tongue.

She snatches it back and leans against the car, licking the Popsicle as summer heat rolls off the pavement. “I liked you then.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I do.” She says it with this small crooked smile, like it’s a secret she’s been saving.

“And now?”

“Still do.”

“But I lost you.” I look down, ignoring the pressure in my chest. “I don’t want to be that guy anymore.”