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Two weeks of carefully crafted avoidance wasn’t long enough. The very sight of his tall frame, his dark hair, and mischievous blue eyes makes me flutter.
More than anything, in the sweets aisle of the grocery store, I want to grab his stupid, beautiful face and feel the warmth of his lips on mine.
But I don’t. Instead, I scoff, throwing up my walls. “Don’t you have like…a personal chef to do the shopping for you?”
He shrugs. “Most of the time. But she never buys…”—he pulls a box from the shelf—“Gushers.”
I can’t help the grin that lifts my lips. I missed his terrible sense of humor.
“Jason!” A voice barks his name, and he winces.
“Also,” he adds, “my dad is really picky about his cuts of steak.”
My heart freezes. Mr. King is here.
My whole body goes numb. I shove the peanut butter away and grab the shopping cart. “I actually should find Pearl, we’re kind of on a time crunch…”
“Hold up.” He grips the rim of the shopping cart, and he’s too strong for me to yank it back. “Answer my question first.”
I sigh dramatically. “What. Something about Gushers?”
“No. Are you avoiding me?”
When those blue eyes meet mine…part of my chest caves in. For someone so tall, he looks suddenly small. Vulnerable.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.
Words coming up like acid in my throat. I want to tell him. I’m going to tell him. He deserves to know.
But then, down the aisle, I see him approaching. Mr. King. His eyes land on me, and they narrow.
I have to get out of here. My voice is sharp, my teeth are chattering, and what comes flying out of my mouth next is the only thing I can think of to get him to leave: “Jesus, Jason, it was just a summer fling. Man up.”
I yank the shopping cart, and this time, he releases his grip. He looks kicked. But I’m running on adrenaline now—no turning back now. I exit the aisle and push the cart forward, away, trying to find Pearl, trying to get out of here…
Trying to ignore the tears blurring my vision, or the metallic taste of shame in my mouth.
I open the jar of peanut butter on the way back to Four’s. I eat it with my fingers. It lumps in my mouth and my throat, and I take no joy in it, but I keep shoveling it back anyway.
Pearl parks the car out front and then hops out. “Can you get the rest of the bags, darling?” she calls out.
But “rest of” she means “all of,” but I don’t complain. It takes me a second to suck the sweet stickiness from my fingers, but then I screw the jar shut and get to work. I clamber out of the car and load the groceries onto my arms. All my movements feel slow. Every task is a chore.
I want to curl under the blankets of my bed and sleep for a year.
I use my foot to kick the car door closed and trudge inside. Except my bad mood doesn’t get to linger, because the second I open the door—
“Surprise!”
For a minute, I just stare at the sight in front of me. There’s a colored banner hanging across the wall with the word “Congratulations!” Four and Pearl are standing side by side, staring at me, all wide, toothy smiles. A single cupcake sits on a plate on the table, a candle in it.
First, I think, It’s not my birthday.
Then, it hits me. They must have found out about the baby. And they’re…happy about it?
“We’re so proud of you, kid,” Four says, really laying on the dad-role thick.
Proud of me? This isn’t how I thought this conversation would go. My mouth is dry. Maybe from nerves. Maybe from all the peanut butter I devoured in the car. I drop the grocery bags to the floor.
