Chapter 5 #2
His words stick with me as I shove Asher into the passenger seat and wrestle his crutches from him to wedge in the back.
I feel a bit like I fell into the set of a movie about a small town, and a little emotional thinking of all these wonderful people who probably knew my Pierce relatives and I just … didn’t get to.
But then, I also get this same vibe from my sisters in the city and the regulars from their businesses. I have plenty of internet access there with zero rusted valves to care about.
I pull into the closest spot I can find outside the Quick Lick and giggle when I spot a motorized scooter near the entrance.
Asher follows my gaze and stiffens when he sees what I’m staring at. “No,” he says.
“You need it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Asher. Your armpits are going to be destroyed if you crutch around this entire store.”
“I’ll sit in the car.”
“And what? I shop for you? No thanks. Come on. Nobody cares.”
He stares at the scooter as if it insulted his mother. Then, with a sigh that sounds like his soul is leaving his body, he crutches over to it and lowers himself onto the seat. I try so hard not to laugh. I really do.
But he looks absolutely ridiculous—this big, bearded man hunched over a little red scooter, his booted foot sticking out at an awkward angle.
“Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” I pretend to cough so I can hide a smile.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not,” I lie as I bite the inside of my cheek. I grab a basket and walk alongside him. “Come on, Speed Racer. Let’s get you some dino nuggets.”
He motors after me, the scooter beeping softly. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
We start in produce, and I grab basics for myself: apples, bananas, salad stuff. Asher motors past it all, heading straight for the frozen food section. I follow him and watch as he loads his basket with frozen pizzas, bags of tater tots, and—yes—dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.
“My sister thinks these are gross,” I say, holding up a bag.
“They taste better in dinosaur shape. There have been studies.”
“There have not.”
“Have you read all the studies?”
I’m grinning now, unable to help it. “You’re so weird.”
“Says the girl buying seventeen types of fancy cheese.”
I look down at my basket. “It’s only three types.
” The cheese all says it’s from Udderly Creamy, which has so far been a delicious source of dairy and outstanding pun work.
I start to imagine all the hashtags I could create for them if I were managing their social media.
I bet those Climax hipsters would come in droves for #UdderlyRipe goat cheese spread.
We continue through the store like this—him piling boxes of frozen crap into the cart, me pondering a “whip it good” campaign for cream.
“Mac and cheese?” I hold up a box.
“The good kind or the healthy kind?”
“Is there a healthy kind?”
He waves a hand. “My sister buys some kind made with chickpea noodles. She can’t do gluten.”
“We’ll leave the garbanzo pasta for her then.
” I toss three standard blue boxes into my basket and three into his.
Despite everything—the broken ankle, the weird circumstances, the fact that we barely know each other—shopping with Asher is fun.
I can’t remember the last time grocery shopping felt like anything other than a chore.
We’re in the chip aisle—salt and vinegar for both of us—when a woman’s voice calls out. “Asher Thorne? I wondered who had the scooter!”
We both turn to see the woman I met early this morning: Ginny Quick, with her curly blonde hair and pink manicure. She grins at Asher like she just spotted a celebrity.
“Hi, Ginny,” Asher says, and he sounds resigned.
“Heard about your ankle from half the town. How’re you managing?”
“Fine.”
“And you’re Eva, right? The one who inherited the Pierce place?” Ginny’s attention shifts to me, bright and curious. “Whole town’s talking about you two. Are you an intern?”
My face heats. “I’m twenty-three.”
“And already driving Asher around? That’s so sweet. He never lets anyone help him with anything.”
Asher turns an adorable shade of red underneath his bushy beard. “We’re just—”
“Neighbors,” I finish. “Just neighbors doing neighborly things.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ginny’s smile suggests she thinks we’re full of crap. “Well, it’s nice to see.” Her tone seems sinister somehow, but I don’t know her well enough to assume.
Asher mutters, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ginny.”
She feigns surprise. “Well, that’s why I’m asking, silly.” She pats his shoulder. “You need anything else? I can help you shop while you tell me all about it.”
“We’re good,” I say quickly, desperate to escape.
Ginny frowns, her hand on the basket of Asher’s scooter. He looks up at her. “We’re good,” he echoes.
The curly yenta purses her lips and nods. “All right, then. I’ll see you at the register.”
She bustles off, and I look at Asher. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight.
“That was—”
“Humiliating?”
“I was going to say awkward.”
“That too.”
We finish shopping in silence, both of us hyperaware now of the eyes following us through the store. By the time we get to the register—where Ginny rings us up while making more pointed remarks and very clearly staking some sort of claim on Asher—I’m ready to flee.
Asher pays for his stuff, I pay for mine, and we load everything into my car as quickly as possible.
“That was the worst,” Asher says once we’re safely in the car.
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“She’s always like that, and I’m not interested.” Asher seems keen to make this point, and I tuck that knowledge inside, reminding myself that I’m just in town briefly.
His stomach growls, and I glance at the groceries. “How long would it take to grab a quick bite at the diner?”
He shrugs. “Should be fine if you don’t request a bunch of substitutions or send the line cook out foraging.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Asher Thorne. I work in the service industry. I would never.” I grin and hop out of the car, tugging him to his feet outside Lick Your Fork.