“I do not know. Love. Angel. Juicy. Something awful.”
“I am now frightened of the underwear aisle.”
“Good. Fear will keep you alert.”
I put my coat on. “Right.”
I take one step towards the hall, then stop.
She is standing near the sofa, still too pale, still trying to look as if this is merely a minor logistical inconvenience and not a deeply annoying bodily ambush.
I go back.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“That is never true.”
“No.”
I bend and kiss her.
Just once. Soft. No heat behind it, not because I do not want it, but because this is not that kind of moment. It is a kiss before going to the shop. A Saturday kiss. An ordinary one.
Which makes it dangerous in an entirely different way.
When I lift my head, she looks slightly startled.
Then her mouth curves. “You are very committed to this errand.”
“I take instructions well.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I take yours well.”
“Debatable.”
I smile and leave before I say something too honest.
I am halfway down the hallway when she calls after me.
“Size twelve.”
I stop with my hand on the front door.
“Sorry?”
“Knickers,” she says from the living room. “Size twelve.”
I look back.
She has turned scarlet.
“Right,” I say.
I open the door. “Size twelve. No cartoons. No slogans. Fear will keep me alert.”