Page 9 of Snow Globe Secrets

“I know! I love it. Don’t you love it?”

“I suppose I do. I don’t think I really thought about it when I bought the place.”

“I can see that since you don’t ski! My parents were really surprised when I chose Hampstead,” he shared as we walked the aisles at a brisk pace, “but I love the campus, and I love this weather. Never tire of it. Sure, I love being at the beach in the summer, but I don’t need to be there all the time. I swear my dad’s half dolphin. I think he feels claustrophobic just coming up here to visit.”

We were walking along as he told me about deciding to major in premed. As we walked and I listened to him talk, we would stop occasionally and agree on items to toss in the cart.

“I cook a little, now that I’m out of the dorm, so at least I can help. It’s not like we’ll have much else to do. Especially if the power goes out.”

“Okay, what’s your go-to meal? Let’s be sure to get the ingredients.”

Austin took off, the shopping cart rattling in front of him, and I followed behind.

“I hate to break it to you, but frozen meals don’t count as cooking,” I yelled after him as we found ourselves toward the back of the store, in front of a line of refrigerated cabinets.

Austin eyed me before perusing the shelves until he found what he was looking for.

“Ravioli! My favorite. We’ll get some tomatoes and ground beef. Do you eat meat?”

I nodded.

“Then that’s one meal down!”

We bounced around the shop, a truly illogical way to shop, sharing favorite recipes and chasing down the ingredients. We ended up with a cart full of food. I’d been so proud of myself for emptying the damn refrigerator, and our cart looked like we were feeding an army.

We passed the liquor aisle as we were heading to check out, and Austin stood under the fluorescent lights of a neon sign that was advertising a local beer. He looked boyish, but I think that had as much to do with the playful look in his eyes as his age. The beer sign brought an otherworldly shimmer to his light hair, bringing out red highlights. His eyes danced, and under the glow of the advertising around us I could see the flecks of yellow that mixed with the brown to make his eyes something more than my own dull, average brown.

I was perusing the limited selection of wine as I asked, “Are you twenty-one?” He’d headed toward a stack of beer cases piled high on the floor in the corner.

“As of last summer.” He raised his voice as we wandered further from each other. ”Which, as a British person, you might not realize is drinking age here in the US of A.”

“I was born in Kansas!” I shouted back, not caring that the one other shopper in this area was staring at us.

We were laughing as he joined me.

“I’m a wine drinker myself but grab whatever you’d like. I finished my last bottle of …” I looked around for my favorite bottle of wine, surprised to find it, and placed one in the cart. Austin watched me but hesitated.

“Beer? Wine? What’s your poison? Grab whatever.”

“Yeah, yes. Okay.” He added a case of IPA from a local brewer, and I nodded approvingly.

“And white, I think. For the fish?”

“Agreed.”

At the register, Austin took it all in and reached in his pocket for his phone. “I can help pay,” he said as he tapped on the screen.

I deduced that he must be looking for his payment app on his phone, so I put my hand over his and lowered his arm and the phone. “Don’t be silly. I’m meant to stay with your family for a week, eating your parents’ food. This is the least I can do.”

As if holding his hand was the most natural thing in the world, I hadn’t realized that we were still connected until he pulled his away, making a show of looking at his phone screen. The loss of his touch was palpable.

“Thank you,” he replied simply.

Our turn had arrived, and he led our little train through the narrow lane of the register. We began setting groceries on the conveyor belt, including bags of chips and nuts.

“Don’t thank me. You’re going to be the one doing the cooking.” I had said it matter-of-factly. Austin hesitated for a moment before laughing.

“Looks like you boys are ready to be snowed in,” our cashier interrupted. “That, or throw a frat party. Leave the case where it is, and I’ll come around and scan it.”