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Manny Paletta.
Supposedly he’s the nephew of Giovanni Paletta. As in the Giovanni of Giovanni’s No Frills. Although it’s possible Dax made that fact up to fuck with me.
He looks the same as in my timeline. Gangly body. Full mop of dark curly hair. A fresh face that makes it look like he’s still a year away from high school graduation. Eyes that indicate he’s seen a lot more life.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Manny asks again.
“No?” I answer, assessing him assessing me. I’m curious if our enmity transcends space and time.
It appears it does not, yet I’m tempted to test the waters.
“Where do you keep the paper towels?” I ask him.
He points to a display a whole five feet away. “See that pyramid of paper towels?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where we keep the paper towels.”
He turns and leaves me completely unattended. I know I’m in the clear.
A small ache blooms in my chest as I stare at the perfectly piled stack of knockoff Bounty. Another tiny memory that makes me miss Dax more.
“You ever get the urge to dive straight into that thing?”
At first, I think he’s a hallucination brought on by multiverse travel and hunger.
But he’s real. Dax in the flesh. Standing with his arms crossed. Staring at the scene of one of our best friendship moments.
“I can tell you, on good authority, it’s not a good idea if you plan on shopping here in the future.”
Then it occurs to me. Dax is a bit of a health nut. He insists on shopping at this overpriced organic store over on Locke. “What are you doing here? You don’t shop here.”
Dax looks around the store. “I don’t?”
Shit. I need to stop letting words come out of my mouth before I’ve had the chance to filter them. “What I meant is that I’ve never seen you shopping here before.”
Dax gives me a curious stare. “Well, I can say on good authority that I have been shopping here pretty regularly for the last fewyears. I am almost on a first-name basis with the assistant store manager.”
Manny walks by, eyeing Dax and me and the paper towel display as if he can sense we’re talking about him.
“Ah, right. Manny,” I tell Dax. “Giovanni’s nephew.”
Dax raises his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s a fun fact. I will file it away for a rainy day.”
There’s an awkward pause in our conversation that draws out for a while, leaving me searching for the right words to say next. It is a twist of fate that we’re both here. Although I might have preferred nonfluorescent lighting and to have put on more presentable pants, my body craves Dax. Not in a sexy way, but the kind that I want to go home with him. Curl up on his tiny two-seater couch, steal his favorite big fuzzy Hudson’s Bay blanket, and watch reality television until our eyeballs start to ache.
I eye his basket. “Those look like great bananas. Ripe, but not so ripe that you’ll be forced to make banana bread tomorrow.”
Dax nods. “That’s the hope.”
There should be a thousand conversation starters on the tip of my tongue. I’ve never, ever had problems talking to Dax. But the only thought that seems to surface is to comment on the plumpness of his plums. At least I have the self-awareness to know that that’s fucking weird and not at all in line with the fun-loving friend I’m trying to portray.
So I stand there. Awkwardly. Mouth shut. Staring creepily at his fruit until he makes a wide turn with his cart to get past mine. “Have a good night, Gemma.”
“I guess I’ll see you around,” I say to the back of his head.
Jeeeeeessssuuuusss. Okay. Deep breaths. Round three with Dax has gone slightly better than round one, about on par with my performance at the curling club. At this rate, it will take meanother four years before we’re friends. Maybe Kiersten was right. Not the showing-Dax-my-tits part. But maybe I should change my tactics. There are only so many opportunities to have Dax practically falling into my lap.
