Page 11 of On the Breakaway

“Yeah,” I answer, already halfway out the door. “I will.”

I hang up before she can add anything else, pulling my jacket tighter as I head toward the store and try to shake off the lingering irritation that always seems to follow conversations with my parents.

It’s stupid, really, how easily they get under my skin and drag up things that I’d prefer to pretend I have moved on from.

By the time I push through the doors, grabbing a basket I don’t actually want, I’ve almost convinced myself I don’t care.

Almost.

The store is busier than I expected for a weekday morning, carts rattling over tile and people drifting through aisles like they’ve got nowhere better to be. It’s exactly the kind of slow, mindless energy I’m trying to match.

I make it through produce and dairy without issue, tossing a few things into my basket without much thought. I turn the corner fast, too busy getting lost in my head to pay attention, and walk straight into something solid.

Not something.

Someone.

My basket bumps hard into his side as my shoulder collides with his chest, the impact stopping me short. I jolt back as if I’d run into a wall.

A very chiseled wall.

“Careful.”

The voice is ice down my spine, and I don’t even need to look up to know exactly who it is.

Of fucking course.

I take a step back, my grip tightening on the basket as I tilt my head up, already annoyed.

“Hi, Chaos.”

Grayson Shaw is standing there smirking as if he didn’t just absorb that hit without so much as shifting, one hand braced lightly against his cart, the other still holding whatever he grabbed before I ran into him.

His expression is calm. Like always.

He can’t be more than six-foot-one, but considering I’m only five-four and standing way too close to him, he towers over me.

“You could try watching where you’re going,” he adds, not even sounding irritated, which somehow makes it worse.

I huff out a breath, rolling my shoulder once, still feeling the impact. “You could try not standing in the middle of the aisle like a brick wall.”

His lips twitch. “Didn’t realize I was that sturdy.”

I roll my eyes, turning away from him and reaching for a box of mac and cheese on the shelf. It wasn’t on my list, but I need something to do with my hands.

“Why are you always showing up around me?” I drop the box into my basket.

“Must be fate.”

I snort. “I must have some really bad karma then.”

“The worst.”

His gaze dips to my groceries, and I immediately regret not grabbing literally anything else.

Ramen. Frozen meals. Chips.

He doesn’t say anything right away, the silence stretching uncomfortably long.