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Now it looks as if the studio may never happen, and that thought makes me want to cry.
I suck it up, though, and head toward the grocery store. I’m on the tail end of completing a watercolor of the Allegheny Reservoir, and I want to finish it this week. Enough groceries to get me through the next four days will ensure that happens.
I pull into the Shop ’n’ Save lot, pausing to type out a quick list on my phone before going in. The way I’m feeling now, I’ll likely make impulsive food choices that’ll include chocolate in the ingredients.
Cart chosen, I make my way down the first aisle, grabbing quinoa and chickpeas for a summer salad. Feeling healthy and proud of my decisions, I bypass the pasta aisle—bad carbs are a definite weakness—and grab herbal tea instead.
I struggle with the next section, and although I try to move past the chips, sadly I turn my cart their way. Potato chips, Doritos, pretzels, salsa. It all calls to me as a means of alleviating the stress I’m under.
My chin lifts and I walk on, refusing to stop, refusing to reach out.
It’s the next aisle where I often fail.
The baked goods section.
I’ll take just a peek.
Bad move.
I make it no more than a quarter of the aisle before grabbing a bag of chocolate chips and opening it right there. Setting it in the front seat of the cart, I nibble at the tiny bits of chocolate heaven while I peruse the boxed cakes.
Maybe I’ll make a strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting. Fruit’s good for you, right?
My inner child—the one who was often picked on about her plain looks and weight growing up—tells me this is a bad idea. That eating my feelings is only going to lead to worse feelings.
I pick up the bag of chocolate chips and eat from it as I scan the cakes, still not committing one way or the other. Maybe if I get my sweet fix in the next few chips, I will find the strength to walk away.
“Tilden?”
I freeze, chocolate chip halfway to my mouth, and turn to see Coen standing there. He’s got a basket in one hand and a six-pack of bottled beer in the other.
Nope. Not talking to him.
Also, mortified he caught me eating chocolate chips out of the bag.
I turn quickly, tossing the candy into the cart, and pushing it in the opposite direction of one of the reasons I’m twisted in knots.
I don’t make it to the end of the aisle before his hand is on my elbow and he’s pulling me to a halt.
Jerking away, I spin on him. “What do you want?”
“Just saying hello,” he replies guardedly.
“Why?” My voice is low but demanding. “We’re not friends.”
“I didn’t call you Tillie,” he points out, then steps forward. He towers above me, his eyes glittering with knowledge. “But we are something.”
“We’re not,” I whisper.
He dips his head. “You let me into your body. That makes us something.”
I swallow hard, and the chocolate tastes bitter on my tongue. “Merely a one-night stand.”
“I’ve had you twice.”
“Fuck buddies,” I counter.
His lips curve into a knowing smirk. Why does that have to look sexy?
