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“You tell me? Did you enjoy watching me destroy those jerks’ tires?”
He nods.
“Then there’s your answer,” I retort, vindicated.
“Nice to see that under all that classy exterior, there’s a bit of hood in you.”
“I’m not sure you can call Seaport the hood.” I laugh. “But I did grow up having to deal with a few bullies back in the day. Though I guess that’s just what happens to teenagers who have an eccentric fashion sense. What about you? Did you have any bullies growing up?”
The light in his eyes fades, his expression turning lethal.
“You can say that.”
I’m unsure of what I could have possibly said that could have upset him so, but he doesn’t give me any time to ask, preferring to just walk away. Since I don’t want to be caught red-handed after having just committed a felony, I quickly run after him before I lose him completely.
One thing’s for sure—I might have won our rollerblading competition, but Nate ended up winning our foot race.
He couldn’t get faster away from me if he tried.
Too bad for him. He’s stuck with me for the rest of the day.
It’s not like I have anything to return home to back home.
I would rather take my chances with my mercurial client than have to spend my day off wallowing in how uneventful my life is outside of work.
Yeah.
Nate is not going to get rid of me that easily.
Chapter 19
Charlotte
“Here? You stopped our date to come here?” he asks begrudgingly.
“You did say you haven’t been able to buy groceries, right? So here we are. Tada!” I announce cheerfully like I’m doing a big unveiling of a supermarket. “Come on. Or are you scared of a little fluorescent lightning?” I tease.
“That’s not what scares me,” he grumbles in defeat. “Let’s get this over with then,” he adds, shoving his hands in his pockets, something I see him doing a lot when he’s nervous.
To loosen him up a bit, I slide my arm around his, completely surprising the both of us.
“We’re still on a date, remember?”
“So, is this how it’s going to be? We play pretend?”
“Pretty much. Like I said. I’m a stand-in, which means you should treat me as if I were the real thing. Or didn’t you get that yet?” I joke, giving his forearm a little squeeze.
“Believe me, I’m trying very hard not to,” he mutters anxiously, but I chuck the remark out due to nerves.
“Just relax, Nate. How much trouble could we get into in the produce line?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
Arm in arm, we walk into the grocery store, his stiff muscles relaxing when he sees that there aren’t as many people as one would expect on a Sunday afternoon.
We grab a cart and start wheeling it down every aisle as Nate adds things to it while crossing them off the list.
“See? Not so scary, is it?” I smile brightly at him, happy to see that he’s no longer in a foul mood.
