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She presses her lips into mine. It's harder, needier. I slide my hands under her T-shirt, over the soft skin of her lower back, and pull her closer. She moans lightly, her body melting into me.
We're only a ten-minute walk from the apartment, but it feels like it's a million miles away.
I feel her hands on my skin, under my T-shirt. "Ally," I groan. "We're in a public park."
"I know," she says, and she kisses me harder.
When we break, she's flushed. Panting. "Damn. That's what I get for trying to torture you."
"Trust me. It's torture," I say.
"Revenge is so sweet. Even when it hurts." She takes my hand. "Do you want to go back to the apartment now?"
"No. Let's finish all the errands first. So we don't have to leave."
Her lips curl into a smile and she nods.
We rush through a host of errands--the drugstore, K-mart, lunch, another cup of coffee--and end up at Whole Foods. I fill her cart with fruits and vegetables, but she shoots me a mind your own damn business look and removes everything I loaded.
"You don't want apples?" I ask.
"I do."
"Then why put them back?"
"Just let me do it, okay?" She stares at the apples, really examining them. Finally, she packs a dozen into a plastic bag and places them in the cart. She slips into the rhythm of shopping, picking up bits and pieces here and there.
I bite my tongue a dozen times to avoid offering suggestions. She's always painfully distant about recovery, and she mostly refuses to discuss anything related to food.
"You're hovering," she says.
"I'm not hovering. I'm just here."
"But you look so concerned."
"Am I not allowed to be concerned?" I ask.
"You're the one who convinced me to do this."
"I know."
"You begged me to take the role and go to New York on my own." She loads the cart with almond milk, of course.
"I'm concerned. That's it."
"I'm not a vase that's going to break," she says.
"It's okay if you're scared of being on your own. I'm scared too."
"What are you scared about?"
"I hate being without you."
She turns away, her fingers digging into the cart. "This was your idea."
"You're happy, aren't you?" I ask.
"Yeah, but..." She lowers her voice, until it's barely a whisper. "What if I can't handle being here alone? What if it's too much, too soon? There's a street cart on every corner. A trigger food on every corner. This is going to be stressful. I'm going to be tempted."
