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Once Shark and I are inside my truck, I look back toward the patio and watch Brianna for a moment, darting around quickly. All the tables are filled at this point, and she’s doing her best to keep up. I wish she didn’t have to do this job. I let out a breath and back out of the parking lot.
So, Brianna is coming to my place for dinner. That means there’s a lot to do to prepare. I’m going to make her dinner, which is crazy considering I haven’t cooked for a woman in years. This is going to call for a trip to the supermarket, for sure. The first order of business is the supermarket, which I try to avoid. I usually just come into town a few times a month and load up on as many groceries as I can.
I walk into the supermarket in a daze and already feel overwhelmed. I have to admit that growing up in Chicago we had a chef prepare our dinners. I’d ask for anything I wanted, and it was made. I never liked the fancy stuff that my mother asked for. I was content with grilled cheese sandwiches and French fries, though it was frowned upon at the simplistic of it.
Walking through the produce section, I look around trying to decide what I’m going to cook. I don’t even know where to start. I stand in front of the onions and scratch my head.
“You look lost,” an elderly woman says, leaning against her push cart.
“I think that you’re right,” I reply.
“These are the best potatoes,” she says, motioning towa
rd the red ones.
“Well, I gotta make a dinner tonight, and I don’t know where to begin,” I tell her. The lady seems like the kind of person who would be sympathetic to these kinds of problems.
“I see. Is it a family dinner?”
“No, it’s for a lady.”
Her eyes light up, and I can tell she’s intrigued.
“Oh, that kind of dinner!” she says with enthusiasm.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You can’t go wrong with a nice pasta.”
“Really?” I’m thrilled because I actually know how to make that.
“Oh, yes. You can win any woman’s heart with pasta.”
The lady walks around the supermarket with me and proceeds to fill my cart. She puts asparagus in there, which I recognize, also mushrooms, shallots, which she has to explain, and dry vermicelli pasta. She also picks up some garlic bread from the bakery section and gets some shrimp from the seafood station.
“You’ve saved the day,” I say to her, genuinely grateful that she helped me out. Now I’d just have to figure out how to bring it all together.
“My pleasure,” she says with a smile. She reaches up and grabs my cheek. “You remind me of my grandson.”
“Thank you.” I give the woman a hug.
I have all the workings for a fantastic meal and decide to pick up a bottle of wine. Riding back to my cabin, I’m feeling good. Making dinner for a beautiful woman is just what I need, and even Shark seems elated. He sticks his head outside the window of my truck and enjoys the wind on his furry face.
This joyful ride comes to a stop when I reach the cabin and find a BMW parked out front. The car is immaculately clean in comparison to my truck, which I never wash. I know who the BMW belongs to, and I’m not pleased.
I hop out of the truck and open the door for Shark to do the same. I walk toward the BMW, the dirt from my tires still whirling in the air. The door to the luxury vehicle opens, and my brother Tanner steps out, dressed head to toe in Ralph Lauren.
“Nice place you got here,” Tanner says.
“How’d you find me?”
“Mom gave me the address.”
“And aren’t I grateful for that,” I reply sarcastically.
“Look at you. I’ve never seen a beard quite like that.” He’s grinning, but I feel like I’m being judged for living the way I want to live.
“Why did you come here, Tanner?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
