Page 25 of Falling for the Billionaire Best Man

I glanced at her as I pulled out of the parking lot. “Sounds like you’re up before the sun most days.”

“Pretty much,” she admitted, sipping her drink. “But I like it. The quiet, the smell of fresh bread baking… it’s worth it.”

I nodded, though I couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to keep up with it all. I was a workaholic but fuck that. No way was I getting up before dawn every day.

“Where’s this grocery store?” I asked.

Soon after, we wound our way through the aisles together. I pushed the cart while she walked beside me judgmentally.

“You’re seriously buying frozen dinners?” Dorie asked, her tone dripping with disbelief as she eyed the stack of microwaveable meals I was tossing into the cart. She leaned against the handle, one eyebrow arched.

“What?” I shot back defensively. “They’re convenient.”

“Convenient? That’s one word for it,” she said, picking up one of the boxes and squinting at the ingredients list like it was written in a foreign language. “Sodium bomb. Preservatives galore. Artificial flavoring? Kaisen, this is basically plastic disguised as food. You’re a runner. You’re the one that complained about my cakes.”

I snatched the box back and chucked it into the cart. “It’s fine. I’m not exactly a gourmet chef, and I don’t want to starve.”

“Do you even know how to cook?” she asked, holding up a pre-packaged salad like it was a crime.

“I eat out a lot,” I admitted, shrugging. “Where would I find stuff to make sandwiches?”

She looked at me like I was crazy. “You mean bread? Meat?”

“Yeah. And mayo. That kind of stuff.”

I could tell she thought I was crazy.

“Have you ever been to a grocery store?” she asked.

“I’ve been to one.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh my God. You haven’t!”

“I have someone who handles groceries,” I said. “And someone does the cleaning. Is that a problem?”

She shook her head, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “No, it’s just… interesting. You’re out of your element, aren’t you?”

I nodded, grabbing a box of cereal off the shelf. “For the next month, yeah. All for Cullen’s sake. I already looked to see what kind of delivery services are around here.”

“And you came up empty,” she said with a smile.

“Basically. I can make a sandwich if I have the stuff.”

“Do you plan on living off sandwiches and frozen pizza?”

“It’s not really a choice. It’s more of a necessity.”

She took over the cart and started moving down the aisle. I followed behind her like a child, my eyes scanning the many offerings. I grabbed a box of steel cut oat packets and tossed it in the cart.

“Maybe Eliza can cook,” I said.

She snorted. “Good luck with that. You might want to stick to your freezer meals.”

I wanted to ask about her comments about Eliza last night. There was clearly some underlying tension there, but I was not sure how to broach the subject. Dorie loved her sister—that much was obvious—but there was something else there. Something she was not saying.

I wondered if it was jealousy. Eliza seemed to be doing pretty well for herself in New York. Eliza said she wanted to open a bakery in New York. Maybe that was where the jealousy came from.

“Hold on,” Dorie said and backed up before turning down another aisle.