One Man, Two Sodas
Griff
The island's only grocery store was small, but impressively stocked. I saw local jams, fancy cheeses, and fresh bread that didn't come in plastic bags.
The setup was surprisingly charming – and a little daunting, considering my budget.
I stood in front of the deli case, squinting at sliced meats like I was trying to pick out a diamond.
Honey ham or smoked turkey? They were different brands, but the turkey was a buck cheaper.
I added it to the basket, then backtracked and grabbed the ham, too.
If I was gonna do this, I'd be doing it right.
Back in Chicago – or anywhere else with my cash and cards – I'd be taking Maisie to a nice dinner and maybe a show. There'd be cocktails, good wine, and more. But today? I had no wine, no reservations, and no black AmEx to make things easy.
It was just me, a basket of groceries, and an idea I couldn't shake.
A couple of days ago, before we'd made things physical, she'd lit up talking about her favorite hiking trails and some of the sights on the island. So sure, my wallet was slim, but that didn't mean I couldn't still show her a decent time.
I was just eyeing a wedge of Manchego when, from somewhere behind me, a familiar voice said, "What, did your private chef quit?"
Smartass. I had no private chef – as he damn well knew. I had a housekeeper, sure, but even I drew the line at having some fancy-pants chef prepare my meals.
Reluctantly, I turned in time to see Ryder toss a bag of jerky into his basket like a man who'd never checked a price tag in his life.
As I wondered what the hell he was doing here, he gave my basket a long once-over, taking in the bread, the lunch meat, the Dijon mustard, a bag of kettle chips, and two bottled sodas that I'd spent a full minute debating.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Lemme guess. You're sick of her sandwiches."
I wasn't, actually. Ever since I'd refused a paycheck, Maisie had been going all out with the sandwiches and sides – giving me more than I'd bargained, like she was trying to make up for the fact I'd refused the money.
It was sweet and told me a lot about her character, especially now that I knew she had problems with a loan.
To Ryder, I replied, "What I'm sick of is you showing up to give me a hard time."
He scoffed. "Who says I'm here for you?"
I knew bull when I heard it. "You're not?"
"Alright. Yeah, I am."
"See?"
His eyebrows lifted. "But when I stopped by your place last night, you were gone."
I was staring now. "In the storm?"
He shrugged. "Eh, it was after the storm. Maybe around eleven."
The timetable didn't mesh. "So you were what? Flying here during the storm?"
He scoffed. "Forget me . I wanna know what you're up to." He lowered his voice to a mock whisper. "You wanna talk about it?"
It felt like a dodge. But hey, I could play that game, too. "Nope."
"Not even over steak?" He said it like he expected me to salivate and jump like a dog for a treat. And yeah, maybe I was salivating a little, but there'd be no jumping today. At least not for him. "Sorry, I've got plans."
He looked down at my basket. "Wait a minute. You've got two sodas."
"Yeah, so?"
"So for you and who else?"
Damn it. "Maybe I want two."
"Bull," he said. "If they were both for you, they'd be beer."
The man had a point. I didn't mind soda, but it was far from my favorite drink. I said nothing in reply.
His eyes narrowed. "You're planning a picnic."
Shit. I hadn't called it a picnic, even in my own mind, but yeah, I guess I was.
When I still said nothing, Ryder burst out laughing. "Don't tell me you've gone native?"
I frowned. "What?"
"Look at you," he laughed. "You're totally blending." Again, he lowered his voice. "Should I stage an intervention? What's next? Flannel and a tandem?"
I gave him a hard look. "Hey, I've seen you in flannel."
"Not on a tandem, you haven't."
I glanced at the front window, where right on cue, a thirty-something couple rode by on a bicycle built for two. The guy was in front. The girl was in back. They were both smiling like they were having the time of their lives. I pointed in their direction. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
He didn't even look. It was just as well, considering they were already gone. With a dramatic groan, he said, "Oh, my God. You have gone native."
Asshole. "Don't you have a lunch to get to?"
"I can't," he said. "My lunch partner just bailed."
I paused to think. "You mean me? We didn't have plans."
"Maybe you didn't," he said, looking disgruntled. "But I did."
"So ask the barista," I said. "Maybe you'll have better luck than I did."
He stiffened. "What?" He gave me a long look. "So you've been hitting on her?"
Sure, the barista was pretty. But she wasn't Maisie. I laughed. "Not hardly. I've been trying to get information like you asked."
His shoulders relaxed. "Oh."
I studied his face. "Wait…is there something you wanna tell me?"
"Nope." He glanced toward the register. "Sorry, gotta check out." And with that, he made a beeline for the register, grabbing a bag of pretzels on the way. Thirty seconds later, he was heading out the door.
I gave a slow shake of my head. Even for Ryder, this was more than a little strange.
As he passed the front window, I stared after him, wondering what the hell was going on and why he was really here – because I had the sudden sensation that he wasn't here to hassle me at all.
What was that about?