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She had no idea what she was going to make and even if she did have an idea or two, she didn’t know what ingredients those meals needed. Well, she could probably guess that she had to buy noodles if she was making spaghetti. And pasta sauce. But would he expect her to make her own sauce? It was going to be heard to sneak jars of Ragu past him if he was the one putting them in the cart.
He grabbed a cart, and her stomach somersaulted. She was going to have to come clean.No, her stubborn streak piped up.You can do this. Just think.
He looked at her. “What do you like to make?”
“Spaghetti!” she blurted out.
He laughed, and reared back a little. “Okay, the woman loves her spaghetti.” He nodded. “What else?”
Uh-oh.
She pretended she hadn’t heard him and continued into the store. The cart rattled along closely behind, so close that she feared for the safety of her Achilles, so she sidestepped out of the cart’s path. Gunner kept on pushing—straight for the produce section. Oh good, she was pretty sure she could put a salad together. She was a big fan of salad bars. This wasn’t so different.
He stopped pushing. “Do you like salad?” she asked.
“Not particularly, but I will eat it.”
She smiled, hoping she didn’t look like a Nervous Nellie, and started dropping vegetables into the cart.
“That’s a lot of veggies,” he said. “Do the kids like salad?”
She stopped and turned to look at him. “Sorry, I should have asked about budget.”
He shook his head. “I’m not worried about that, but I don’t think we should get Bull used to lobster or anything.”
She laughed nervously and looked around the store. She was pretty sure they didn’t sell lobster here. And then she wondered how many lobsters a man Bull’s size could eat, and she shuddered.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She shook her head quickly.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Gather as many salad supplies as you need.” Only then did she realize the sheer quantity of vegetables she had already placed in the cart. It would be hard to feed any group this many vegetables before they went bad. She reached in and removed one of the extra-large bags of celery and casually placed it back on the shelf like it was a common thing for her, like she unshelved and reshelved bags of celery every day.
“I figured you were using that to beef up the spaghetti sauce.”
She frowned. Celery in spaghetti sauce? Was that a thing? Was she supposed to be putting celery in her pasta sauce? Not knowing what to say to that, she hurried away.
“You didn’t get any tomatoes!” he called after her.
She turned back. “The kids don’t like them.”
“Oh ...” He caught up to her. “I meant for the pasta sauce ...”
Her stomach sank. No Ragu for her.
But he read her mind. “You know what? I’m an idiot. The only cook I knew was my mom, and so I’m picturing the way things she used to do things, and that’s not fair. She had no budget at all, so she made everything from scratch, but that would be utterly stupid for you to do.”
She exhaled and dropped her shoulders.
“I mean, if youwantto make things from scratch, you are welcome to, but only if you enjoy that. Don’t ever feel like youhave to do things the hard way. We’re not running a restaurant here.”
Thank God for small favors.
“We’ll get some jars of sauce. What else do you like to make, other than spaghetti and salad?”
She tried to think of what she bought for herself to eat on the road. “Sandwiches,” she blurted out.
“Oh, good point! The kids will need lunch food.” He started moving again. “And sandwich supplies is good because Bull can make his own when he feels like it.”
