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“You grew up in an orphanage?” Glen gave me a funny look.
I shouldn’t just casually drop that on people. “Only for a couple of years back in Ukraine. It was a long time ago.”
“Didn’t know anyone still had those. Are they like in the movies with hundreds of beds in a row?”
I tried to remember how many beds there were. Definitely not hundreds. “I think we had a couple of dozen beds in one room. It really wasn’t so bad.”
“Hmm.” Glen walked past the display of grapes, then went back to grab some. “We have this kid in school who’s constantly bitching about his room being too small.”
Should I tell him not to swear? Who was I kidding? Everyone in New York seemed to have learned to swear in elementary school, if not sooner.
“Jam.” Glen snapped his fingers. “Can we count jam as a vegetable?”
“No, but you can load up on fruit and then I can make you some healthy jam.” The kind that didn’t get cooked into oblivion.
Fruit might be the answer. I bet I could get him to drink fresh juice in the morning. That would take care of all the vitamins and then some, even if I would have to sacrifice fiber to achieve it.
By the time we returned to the car with an overflowing cart, I almost forgot about the real reason we had driven here, but there it was. The same Audi with the same man behind the wheel, pretending to read a newspaper. He must’ve watched too many movies. Who even did surveillance like this?
At least he didn’t park as closely when we drove home, and he couldn’t watch us as easily through the solid metal gate. This security system was definitely a good call on Sean’s part. I’d have to tell him that.
“I have to go meet up with Sean,” I said as I put the last of the food into the fridge. “Congratulations on the clean bill of health.”
“Thanks.” Glen took the grapes and headed to the living room. Victory.
For a hot second, I wanted to ask him what he wanted for his birthday, but he wasn’t even supposed to know what Sean and I were doing tonight.
“So, are you on the book of faces?” I asked.
Glen looked up at me, eyes wide. “Why?”
I tried to shrug it off. “Social media makes it easy to spy on future brothers-in-law.”
“I’m not posting anything stupid there,” he said.
“So much for my idea of finding kompromat on you. Come on, add me, and I’ll show you the ways of the spy.”
He smirked and sent me a friend request. Mission accomplished. Hopefully.
