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We head to the grocery section next, and I grab a few random items, like water and cereal bars.
“What’s your favorite chocolate?” Bennett asks, flicking his fingers toward the candy aisle.
“Not any of those. I prefer my chocolate fix in the form of a cupcake. Are you going to make me some?” I joke.
He rubs his jaw. “Ah, probably not.”
“I was kidding.” I pick up a box of oatmeal and put it in the already overflowing cart.
He picks up the box and looks it over. “You actually eat this stuff?” He looks horrified.
I laugh and snatch the box from his hands. “Yes. Some people like it.”
“Not me.” He makes a face and pushes the cart forward. “This is more my speed.” He grabs a box of Captain Crunch and shows me.
“A kid’s cereal?”
He winks. “This is the good stuff.” He puts it back on the shelf.
I look over everything I have in the cart. “I think I’m done here.”
“Anywhere else?” He points to the various aisles surrounding us.
“Nope, I got it all.”
Side by side, we head to the checkout. Bennett chooses the least busy checkout lane, which still has two people in front of us.
The man in front of us finishes putting his items on the conveyer belt and glances back. His dark brows furrow and he stares at Bennett. “Do I know you?” he asks.
I look between the man and Bennett. The man has to be in his fifties, so there’s no way he’s someone Bennett went to school with.
Bennett shrugs. “No, sorry. You must be mistaken.” He seems unperturbed by the man’s staring, but there’s something in his eyes—a wariness that bothers me.
“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.” The man turns back around when the cashier begins to scan his items.
I don’t ask Bennett about the encounter. We’ve only known each other two hours tops, so I don’t feel like he owes me an explanation. Besides, after this, I doubt I’ll see him again.
Bennett begins unloading my items onto the conveyer belt, and while his back is turned I grab a pack of Sour Patch Kids from the checkout candy rack and toss it onto the pile he has formed.
He laughs and turns to look at me. “For me?” He points at himself.
I smile. “Who else would they be for? I’m certainly not going to eat them.”
I can tell the gesture pleases him. It’s a small thing, sure, but the small things usually mean the most to someone. It’s the little things that show you pay attention.
The cashier begins to scan and bag my items and Bennett immediately grabs them up, setting them in the cart.
“Leave those out,” I tell the cashier, pointing at the Sour Patch Kids. She nods and scans those last and hands them to me. “Thanks,” I say, and swipe my credit card. She hands me the receipt, and I stuff it in the bottomless pit that I call my purse.
I follow Bennett out to his car where he stuffs the rug in the back. It’s a tight fit in his small car, but he makes it work. I hand him the bags and he fits them in beside the rug.
He closes the trunk and goes to return the cart while I get in the car.
When he gets inside, I hand him the Sour Patch Kids bag. His eyes immediately light up like a little kid and he rips the bag open, popping one in his mouth. “Here, have one.” He holds the bag out to me.
I shake my head. “Sour’s not my thing.”
He shakes it. “Come on, just one? For me?” He literally pouts—I’m talking bottom lip curled under and puppy dog eyes, the whole shebang. So, of course, I cave.
