Chapter 20
“Welcome to Mariner’s Market. Would you like some shame with that?” ~ Parker
Parker
I open the back door and nearly run into Jeremy. “I’m on my way out.”
He plants a kiss on my cheek and my body lights up from the tiny bit of contact. This man is dangerous to my health. Worse than bingeing on an entire chocolate cake. Which I only do when the cake is lopsided. Mostly.
He grasps my hand. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“I’m going to the grocery store.”
“I’ll go with.”
He can’t be serious. “You’re going grocery shopping?”
He shrugs. “I can do groceries.”
“Oh, yeah? When was the last time you were in a grocery store?”
“Must we focus on details?”
I giggle. “I take your answer to be a million years ago.”
He scowls. “How old do you think I am?”
I study his face. “Fifty?”
He dives at me to tickle my ribs. I try to bat his hands away. “Stop.”
“Admit you lied.”
“What did I lie about?”
He wraps an arm around my waist and draws me near. “You don’t think I’m fifty.”
“I don’t?”
“A fifty-year-old doesn’t have my stamina.”
“Really?”
“Want me to prove it to you?”
I do. I most definitely do. But there’s no time for sexy games. The grocery store closes soon.
“Fine.” I grunt. “You’re not fifty.”
He kisses my forehead before releasing me. “Now, grocery shopping. Do we walk? Do we drive?”
“We can walk. Mariner’s Market doesn’t mind if I borrow a shopping cart to bring my groceries back to the bakery.”
He switches directions. “We’re not pushing a shopping cart across town like a bunch of beach bums.”
I screech to a halt. “Are you saying I’m a beach bum? Because pushing a shopping cart across town is my jam.”
He sighs. “Allow me to rephrase. Why do all the work of pushing a cart when we have a rental car at our disposal?”
He does have a point. Wheeling a cart with one rogue back wheel across the street while tourists honk at me while ignoring the speed limit is not my idea of fun. “Fine.”
We drive the few blocks to Mariner’s Market. The parking lot is nearly empty since it’s December and most of the tourists have left the island. They’ll be back for Christmas and New Year’s but the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are a welcome reprieve.
I grab a cart but Jeremy pushes me out of the way and snatches it from me. “I got it.”
I dig out my phone and pull up my grocery list. Jeremy glances over my shoulder at the list and groans.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I sing.
“Where do we start?”
“The best aisle. The bakery aisle.”
We make our way through the grocery store, filling the cart with items from my list. I promise all the chocolate is for baking. None of it is for me.
It’s handy having Jeremy with me. He can reach the items on the highest shelf. I usually have to climb the shelves. But I’ve been banned by Mariner’s Market from climbing ever since the ‘peanut butter’ incident. How was I to know the jars of peanut butter were glass?
Having Jeremy around is not only handy. It feels nice. I’m usually on my own. Having a man to help out and joke with me while doing groceries feels good. Better than good.
Stop it, heart. We’re not falling in love with this man.
Except you’re already halfway there.
I ignore the taunt. No matter what happens my ‘relationship’, or whatever you want to call it, with Jeremy, has an expiration date.
“Why are there two hundred types of cereal?” Jeremy asks when he cut through the breakfast aisle.
“You really haven’t been in a grocery store forever.”
He picks up a box. “Elf on the Shelf: Hot Cocoa Cereal,” he reads the label. “Is this breakfast or a holiday-themed dare?”
I snatch the box from him and put it back on the shelf.
He picks up another box. “Kit Kat Cereal. Do people not just eat the actual candy?”
Again, I snatch the box from him and put it back on the shelf. “It’s for children.”
He rears back. “Children? Parents let their kids eat candy for breakfast?”
“I…” I trail off when my gaze catches on the two people walking down the aisle toward us. Speaking of parents.
I search for an exit but we’re halfway down the aisle. If we whirl around, they’ll most certainly notice us. Maybe I can crawl into the grocery cart and they won’t see me.
“Parker,” Mom says – the disapproval clear in her voice.
Awesome. There’s no escape. And Mom is in a snarky mood.
“Mom.” I nod and try to keep going. I don’t make it far before Dad places a hand on the cart to stop us.
“Shopping for supplies for your little bakery?” Dad practically sneers his question.
I don’t go for the bait. “Yep.” I try to continue but Dad’s grip on the cart tightens.
“How did you graduate from culinary school without an apprenticeship?” Mom crosses her arms over her chest.
Wonderful. She’s settling in for an argument about my failings in front of Jeremy, the self-made billionaire. These discussions are usually embarrassing enough. Today is going to take the cake. And not the good cake. One of those dry as bone cakes without any yummy frosting.
“The school promised us all graduates would receive apprenticeships,” Dad adds.
I had an apprenticeship. In Paris. No less. At a cute little patisserie I’ve only seen online because guess who’s never visited Paris?
I shrug. “Maybe you should ask them.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I have no answer for you.”
Because I am not explaining to my parents what a complete idiot I was, who got used in the worst possible way. Mom and Dad wouldn’t hesitate to litigate against the asshole. And then the whole world would know what a fool I am. No thanks.
“I have had enough of you, young lady.” Uh oh. Mom’s bringing out the young ladies.
“I’d love to stay and chat but I need to get back to work.”
“Work?” Dad snorts. “You call your little bakery work?”
“Okay. Enough,” Jeremy grumbles and I jump. I forgot he was standing behind me. Witnessing this entire episode. My cheeks darken as embarrassment flows through me.
Dad glares at him. “Who are you?”
Jeremy reaches for my hand and pulls me close. “I’m Parker’s boyfriend and I don’t appreciate your tone when you speak to her.”
Mom sticks her nose in the air. “Parker is our daughter and we’ll speak to her however we want.”
“Wrong.” Jeremy squeezes my hand. “If you can’t treat your daughter with respect, this conversation is over.”
“Who do you think you are?” Dad asks.
“I told you. I’m Parker’s boyfriend. I won’t allow you to disrespect her in front of me.”
“Allow us?” Dad snorts. “We’ll do whatever we want.”
Which apparently includes embarrassing their only child in the grocery store. Instead of supporting her and, I don’t know, maybe inviting her to holiday meals once in a while.
“We’re leaving,” Jeremy announces.
Dad’s nostrils flare and his cheeks darken with anger. “You’ll leave when I tell you, you can leave.”
Jeremy chuckles but he is not amused. Quite the opposite. “Go ahead and try to stop me. I have a whole team of lawyers who would love to sue you for wrongful imprisonment.”
Mom’s brow wrinkles. “Team of lawyers? Are you a lawyer?”
Interest sparks in her eyes and I groan. When my parents aren’t blaming me for wasting their money, they’re pushing me to ‘find a good man to keep me’ – since my career is a disaster in their opinion.
Spoiler alert. I am not an object to be kept.
“Nope,” Jeremy answers but he doesn’t offer any further information. I nearly giggle. Mom hates it when a person withholds information. Another reason I haven’t explained what happened at culinary school to her. Her irritation brings me a spark of joy.
“Who are you?”
“Parker’s boyfriend.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jeremy.”
I expect her to ask for his last name, which he won’t give her, but instead she asks, “What do you do for a living?”
He shrugs. “A little bit of this. A little bit of that.”
A muscle ticks in Mom’s jaw. She is not getting the information she wants. I nearly clap to encourage ‘my boyfriend’.
The intercom crackles before an announcement is made. “Mr. and Mrs. Shaw, your order is ready to be picked up at the meat counter.”
“Go ahead.” Mom flicks her hand at Dad.
The intercom crackles again. “Mrs. Shaw. You have a phone call.”
Mom sighs. “Work is never finished.”
They bustle away. As soon as they’re gone, I hurry toward the checkout with the cart. I haven’t finished my grocery list yet, but I am not chancing bumping into Mom and Dad again.
We check out without further incident. Once the groceries are in the trunk and we’re on our way back to the bakery, the tension leaks out of my body.
Phew. Another confrontation with my parents is over and I survived. But then I notice the gleam in Jeremy’s eyes. He has questions and I’m afraid he won’t be as easily distracted as my parents.
Where’s a kraken when you need one?