“They have the bunnies,” I say, showing Lukas the little fuzzy rabbit stickers he got at the other store for me before. I’m so glad I don’t have to start with different ones for my calendar.
Shouldering the load of my books in one hand, he lifts the sticker page. “You like the bunnies?”
“They’re cute.”
“You should get them all.”
I look back at the sticker sheets hanging on the rotating display in front of us. “I’m not sure I need that many bunnies.” One day, I hope soonish, I won’t need to keep track of mydays without incidentat all. I’ll just know that there won’t be any incidents, and it’ll be peaceful. “Ooh. Frogs.” There’s a sticker of a frog in a little soup pot. October is upon us, winter will be coming eventually, bringing with it some chill. I should start looking up soup and stew recipes, so I can use this little frog in a pot sticker.
Pot sticker.
I should absolutely make pot stickers for dinner sometime this week, too. “Do we have pork?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. We probably need to go shopping again.” A mischievous glint shines in his eyes as he scoots closer to me. “Whatcha thinking of making me, cupcake?”
Conspiratory friendships are my favorites in books, so I meet him in the middle. “Pot stickers.”
“Kaleb will love that. He adores Asian cuisine,” he whispers, reminding me that this is a man who cares a whole lot about other people in his life, even though he’s addicted to attention and struggles with an inflated sense of self. He still pays attention to other people, too. And it’s painfully sweet.
I say, “I’ll have to make sure he’s going to be home when I make them.”
Lukas nods. “Can I help?”
“Of course.”
Beaming, he kisses my nose, then straightens up to the grand tall height of him. “It’s settled, then. We’ll go grocery shopping after this.”
I look at the stack of books in his arms, grateful that he works out, because—yikes—I think it’s half my height. “So we’ll go now?”
“I don’t think we’ve been in the bookstore long enough yet.”
“Is there something you want to look at?”
He lifts the book stack. “No, but this barely fills one shelf. You’ll have nothing to read in a week. You might not survive.”
This will take me a month. I’ll most assuredly…survive…
My attention catches on a book that is not hockey sitting prettily on the other side of the store. I chew my lip. “Okay… Fine. You’ve convinced me. Five more minutes.”
Two hours later, Lukas and I are meandering through the grocery store while I look up recipes on my phone and bumble about, still riding a high I can’t seem to shake. I feel positivelymanic.
“Do you think we should have a charcuterie night?” I ask.
Lukas, resting against the cart, plays with strands of my hair. “That’s not how I like you to say things.”
“Pleasecan we have a charcuterie night?” I amend.
He kisses my hair. “I love meat and cheese. Are you going to make little roses?”
“If you’d like, I can make your plate very, very special. A personal charcuterie board. Just for you.”
He swears, “—yes, I would love that.” A feral glint streaks through his eyes as he lets my hair slip from his fingers.
I think I’ve figured him out. And it’seasy. So painfully easy. Because it is so, painfully, returned. In equal strides. With open kindness. He’s so considerate and aware and gentle.
“Can I make your plate special, too?” he asks, thrill in his voice as he immediately proves the equality of our odd relationship. “I’ll learn the pretty things. Give you a selection of flowers.”
Excitement rises in me like a tide. “We can learn each other’s favorite cheeses.”
