Everett frowns as I stomp on Davi’s foot. “Was it.”
“Better get showered, salty boy,” Davi says. “We’re getting groceries.”
Everett looks like he’d like to ask more questions, but Laurel comes prancing down the stairs at that moment in a loose white linen dress, hair piled on top of her head.
“Everett!” she sings, like we’re gearing up to go drinking instead of stocking up on food. “Get ready! It’s time for groceries!”
“Better hurry up,” I say when he glances back at me. A deep breath precedes a forced smile before he heads for the stairs.
I’m smiling triumphantly after him. If it were any other point in my life, I would probably be embarrassed by the pride I feel at winning whatever this exchange just was. But this isn’t any other point in my life. It’s now, and I’m annoyed by him. By the way he seems to always be watching me, waiting for some reaction. By the fact that he’s someone who knows, or used to knowme, so his comebacks manage to feel pointed every time, even when they aren’t. By stupid things, like how the way the gray of his eyes makes every glare that much more intense, something I can’t imitate, or how he’s still as at ease in his body as he was back then, some cool-guy thing that makes something as mundane as walking toward the stairs an activity to watch.
Which I am, I realize, when Davi snorts so loudly it startles me. I glare at him, angry to have been caught.
“Soentertaining,” he says on a laugh.
We drive by a farmers market we haven’t been to before on the way to the grocery store. I’m crammed into the back of the Bronco between Davi and Gabe, so I have to lean between Laurel and Everett and shout over the wind for him to pull over. He almost misses it but turns in at the last second, and I tell myself it was on purpose, grumbling when I slide out of the car after Gabe.
Everett is waiting there, one hand on the door and the other stretched toward me.
“What was that?” he asks as I completely ignore it in favor of jumping out. It’s an awkward angle after sitting with my legs scrunched up in the back, and I stumble a little on the landing.
Everett, unfortunately, is there to catch me, one hand grabbing the one I’m already throwing his direction as his other settles on my back to steady me. “Easy there,” he says, voice in my ear. I hadn’t realized how close he was, warm chest pressed against my arm as my heart batters against my ribs. He smells so familiar, vivid memories pricking with each inhale.
I push away and start down the street after the others, catching up to them just outside the entrance to the market. White tents top the stalls, the scents of freshly baked bread and early summer tomatoes floating onto the sidewalk.
I pull the list I made in my room this morning out of my pocket, neat bullet points on the pale blue resort stationery. “We have Friday set,” I say. Friday, Laurel is hosting the mysterious divorce party, what she’s calling her Breakup Blowout, at a bar in town. We all received invitations a few weeks ago, as if we wouldn’t already be together. As if it isn’t the capstone of this entire trip.
“I figured we’d probably get takeout one night,” I continue. “And then Saturday we’ll do our usual shop and final dinner. But, Laurel, any requests?”
“I’m sure whatever you have planned is great,” she says, already distracted by a vendor selling wind chimes. “I’m just going to stop here, but you tell me what you need me to grab!”
“I’ll do a coffee run,” Gabe says. “Orders?”
“I know them,” Davi says, ushering him down the sidewalk toward Fresh Ground, our favorite café.
I feel him behind me. The only one who has ever actually helped me at a market like this, not gotten distracted by something else. In truth, even back then I would have easily and happily done it all by myself, but I used to enjoy his company, sending him off to find things and perusing produce together when he returned to me.
“What’s on your list?” Everett asks, coming around to my side.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Go with Gabe and Davi.”
“Sutton.” He levels me with a gaze I find irritatingly mature, like he’s calling me on our collective bullshit. “Come on. Let me help.”
I sigh but relent, not wanting to be the person who loses this argument by being petulantly stubborn. I examine the list for a minute before tearing it in half and extending it toward him. He’s about to take it, fingers already gripping one corner, when I snatch it back.
“Wait,” I say, running a finger down it. “You know that if you can’t find escarole we can do something like kale, but only if the kale is good.” Everett’s posture stiffens. “And if they don’t have garlic scapes we can’t just substitute it with green garlic. And—” I stop my finger at another item on the list, teeth sinking into my lower lip. “You know, I really should just do this myself.”
The paper is snatched out of my hands before I can blink. I follow after it, a protest on my lips, but Everett holds it out of my reach.
“I know how to pick a good Sungold tomato, Sutton,” he says.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah?” I ask. “How do you know?”
Everett is considering the list and doesn’t look up at me when he says, “I was trained by the best.”
“Who?” I ask, bristling for some unknown reason.
At this, Everett glances up from under his brow, eyes flashing. “You.”
