I grabbed a bag of deveined and shelled frozen jumbo shrimps and tossed it in the cart. “We also need some pasta. What kind do you like?” I looked around, wondering where all the employees were. I had no idea where Sunny’s Mart kept noodles.
“Pasta’s over here.” Killian turned the cart to our right. “Linguini good, or you want something else?”
“That’s fine,” I said, relieved he’d made the choice. Otherwise, I’d have debated for a while wondering what he liked. “Need some wine and bread now. I know where the wine is, but where are all the workers? I don’t want to look through all the aisles.”
The store usually had at least one or two clerks around stocking shelves, but now that I really needed them…
Killian sighed. “The bread’s right there with the wine.” He gestured to the open area.
Oh yeah. I noticed the bakery in the open area with all the wines and liquors. I probably didn’t know because I never bothered to eat bread. Crackers had plenty of carbs.
“Grab me one good French bread, will you?” I moved over to the wine racks. Since scampi wouldn’t be as good without some decent wine, I picked out a nice Sauvignon Blanc from Napa. It’d be about thirty bucks with tax. And a bottle of Pinot Grigio to share over the meal. Might as well splurge a little, I thought with a small smile. This wasn’t just a “thank you for saving me” dinner. It was also a small, personal celebration for finally finishing the book.
I turned around, a bottle clutched in each hand, and ran smack into Killian’s chest. I lost my balance, falling back, and he caught me, one strong arm looping around my waist. The breath whooshed out of me, and I stared up at him, feeling his hand on my back like a brand. A weirdest thrill sizzled over my skin, goosebumps breaking out.
“Sorry about that. You okay?” Killian asked.
“My fault. I’m fine,” I said, my mouth dry. I righted myself, then inhaled, trying to be all cool.
He made a general sort of gesture, indicating the store. “Anything else?”
“Nope. We’re all good.”
He took the Pinot Grigio from me and studied it. “This is an excellent choice.”
I smiled, relieved he wanted to discuss something as innocuous as wine. “I know. If we were having cheeseburgers, I might’ve offered the beer, but it’s Italian.”
“You do burgers, too?” he asked, raising both eyebrows.
“Yeah, but shrimp scampi is faster.”
Chapter Twenty
Killian
Emily tried to pay for the groceries, but I was faster. I swiped my card before she could.
“Hey!” she said.
“Too slow.”
Her mouth pursed. “I don’t want you telling me I owe you something else because you paid.”
“I won’t. You said you’d make me dinner, not pay for the groceries.”
“Okay.” She shrugged.
Besides, contrary to what I’d told her, I couldn’t have her pay for all this. Technically, I’d lied about the snake nest. Thankfully, Emily hadn’t realized that because she hadn’t Googled the truth yet. My guess was she probably didn’t want to see any photos of snakes on her computer. Mir refused to look up anything whose image she didn’t want to see on the Internet. She’d also called me an “unforgivable asshole bastard” when I sent her an article about cockroaches’ ability to live without their heads for a week.
At the same time, I didn’t feel guilty enough to fess up. I wanted to spend more time with Emily, especially now that she was done with her book, and figured she’d set aside a few days to take a break. If the weather was nice, we could have a picnic. Or go to the lake. It was an hour away, but the view was spectacular. It was prettier in the fall when the leaves were red and gold, but it was nice in spring, too. Best to avoid places with lots of crowds, since she seemed to hate that. Better for me, too.
When we arrived home, I carried the groceries in and set them on the kitchen counter.
“Need help with anything?” I asked, hoping she’d say yes. A kitchen was a great place for a couple to get closer. All that innocent accidental brushing of bodies as you grabbed one thing or another for the other person. We could even start drinking while we cooked.
“Nope. You just go chill over there and stay out of the way. It’ll go faster that way.”
I arched a skeptical eyebrow, slightly disappointed that she wasn’t thinking about all the kitchen touching. But she ignored me and started to take things out of the paper bags, putting the Pinot Grigio in the fridge to keep it chilled.
“You want some music?” Nothing set the mood like a good piece of music, and this was the second-best option, since she didn’t want me in the kitchen with her. Since she wasn’t writing, it shouldn’t bother her.
She looked up from turning the oven on. “You want to bang those drums now?”
“No,” I said, laughing at her expression. She could be unexpectedly adorable. “I meant we should listen to something.”
“Why?”
I searched her face. She was genuinely perplexed. She’d told me she didn’t listen to music, but…how could she not listen to something while she was making dinner? “Because it’s relaxing?” And it would be fun and sexy and…
She shrugged. “If it makes you happy. Whatever you want is fine.”
I put on something jazzy and smooth on the Bluetooth speakers.
“How come you aren’t playing your music?” She minced garlic using a knife, with an expertise and precision that surprised me, then tossed it into a pan of olive oil. Contrary to what she’d claimed, I didn’t expect her to be good at it. She’d said she rarely cooked, so when would she have practiced?
“It isn’t really, you know, dinner prep music.”
“I want to listen to it anyway.” She slathered warm butter and the lightly cooked garlic and olive oil inside the French bread.
I was flattered, but also wondered why she was insisting on it. “I thought you wanted me to decide.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because I assumed you’d play yours. What rock star wouldn’t?” She wrapped the bread in aluminum foil and put it in the oven, which was now hot.
“One who understands time and place?” Also, as much as I loved my band, we didn’t exactly put out date music. We had maybe three songs that could be termed romantic, but I didn’t want to just loop those three forever.
She smiled. “Yeah, but I want to listen to it. I was going to check out more of your music, but…got a little distracted.” Something flashed through her gaze, but it was gone when she blinked.
“Okay.” I swapped out the playlist to one I’d created for Axelrod. Our debut hit split the air, the fancy guitar solo by Max kicking off the song. “So. About work and sound.”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re done with your writing, is it such a big deal if I drum again?” I’d been pretty good about taking care of myself. I wanted to try to see if anything would pop into my head. An inspiration. A word. A note.
“Hmm. That depends.”
“On…?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t going to ask for a kidney.