Page 10 of Stuck With the Smokejumper

His mouth has curved into a grin.

“Okay. Maybe I know most of them.”

He doesn't say anything.

“Don't look so pleased with yourself.”

“I didn't say a word.”

“Your face did.”

We keep moving. The vitamins-and-supplements aisle comes next, which means dealing with Reid's requests. I stop in front of a wall of protein powder. “I have no idea what kind of protein powder Reid wants. There are ten different kinds.”

Beck looks over my shoulder. “Chocolate whey isolate.”

I glance at him. “What?”

He reaches past me, grabs a black container, and puts it in the cart. “That's what he buys.”

“You know Reid's protein powder?”

“I live with him.”

“I've lived with him too.”

“I guess I'm more observant.”

I give him a look, unconvinced, though I'm secretly a little impressed.

He smiles and picks up Reid's preferred toothpaste without consulting me.

There's something oddly reassuring about it. Beck doesn't just know my brother in the way people know coworkers. He knows what toothpaste Reid uses. What protein powder he buys. Probably which side of the bed he sleeps on. Maybe even how much bacon it takes to wake him.

I move farther down the aisle.

Beck stops. “You have Dr. Squatch?”

I turn around.

He's staring at a shelf of soap and deodorant.

“Try not to sound so shocked. Timber Creek has indoor plumbing too.”

“Now you're just showing off.”

I laugh and toss sunscreen into the cart.

Beck picks up a bar of Dr. Squatch soap, then deodorant. He puts both items in the cart.

A few aisles later, I'm searching for the industrial quantities of toilet paper required by eight people living in one house. The only large package left is on the top shelf. I reach for it. My fingertips brush plastic. Almost. I stretch higher. Still no.

An arm appears above my shoulder. Beck steps in behind me and takes the package down without straining for it. He's close enough I catch a clean, woodsy scent.

If that’s Dr. Squatch, I can’t argue with why he wanted it.

He holds up the enormous package between us, enough toilet paper to survive a minor apocalypse.

“This?”