Surprise Shopping
Chapter twenty-two
Hayes Rosewood
“Why am I here right now?” Forrest groans, slumping on a nearby shelf full of fall-themed products.
“Because you wanted me to buy you food,” I reply as I pick up a jar of spiced apple butter. I place it in the cart next to the random assortment of items I’ve gathered so far.
“We’ve been in here for twenty minutes, and I haven’t eaten since before the gym,” he complains.
“That was maybe two hours ago. You’re fine.” I grab a pumpkin waffle–scented candle and set it with my collection, then realize I’ve already put three candles in there. “How many candles is too many for a gift basket?”
Forrest looks at me like I sprouted a limb from the center of my forehead.
“How should I know?” He throws his hands in the air. “I can’t think when I’m starving like this.”
“Well, you better learn to, because I’m not getting you food until we figure this out.”
“Fine.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve got way too many things in there. There’s no way they fit in that tiny basket.”
I frown and eye my cart. Candles, flowers, baked goods, and house decor are scattered across the bottom.
He’s right. I grabbed a brown wicker basket from the home section when I first got here, but I’ve quickly outgrown the measly thing.
Growing up, my mom always said that you don’t go to someone’s house empty-handed.
Her version of that included expensive bottles of champagne or a fruit bowl that costs as much as someone’s mortgage.
I got the feeling that wouldn’t be appreciated by Aurora or her family, so I googled hostess gifts.
The infamous basket came up, and I spent my morning workout scrolling through photos in between sets.
Once I had sufficient inspiration, I dragged Forrest with me to the store. I have to drive him home anyway, so I thought two heads would be better than one. I’m not sure about that anymore, since he’s mostly complained about being hungry the whole time.
“I’ll just get a bigger basket,” I say, and start to turn the cart back in that direction.
Forrest grabs the rim of the cart, stopping me.
“Why don’t you ask Aurora what she thinks her mom would like?” he asks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” I reply, and jerk the cart out of his grip.
“From what I’ve heard, she doesn’t seem to be the surprise type.”
I think she’d like surprises if they were tailored to her, but Forrest might be correct in this specific situation. I tell him as much, which earns me a smug look I’m tempted to swing at. Grumbling about cocky teenagers, I pull out my phone and call Aurora. She answers almost immediately.
“Hello?” Her voice is lined with both confusion and panic. I can hear music in the background, and voices, too.
“Having a party without me, Princess?”
Forrest’s eyebrows tick up at the nickname. I shove his shoulder and point in the direction of protein bars as we pass them. I’ll buy him a meal, too, but I like to get him some groceries every now and again. He jogs in that direction, leaving me to have my conversation in private.
“Saylor rewards herself with a music-and-cleaning party on Sundays. She doesn’t listen to music with words during the week because it distracts her from studying.”
I let out a little laugh.
“You’ve got some interesting friends.”
“Yeah, I do,” she replies, and it sounds like she’s happy, maybe smiling. I wish I was there to witness it. “What are you calling for?” The nerves return to her voice.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, but I thought it might be better to get help since you know her better. If I wanted to bring your mom a gift, what would she like best?”
The phone is silent, aside from the music in the background. I stroll through aisles without looking at anything, waiting on a reply.
“You want to get her a gift?”
“Yeah, I thought it would make a good impression. But if I’m wrong, I can put everything back.”
“Wait, you’re at the store right now? What do you have?”
I stop and lean over the cart handle.
“The better question would be what do I not have.” I laugh. “I might have gone a little overboard. Have you heard of the website Pinterest?”
I’d never been on it until this morning’s research.
Aurora snorts. “Yes, I have. I’m guessing it gave you one too many ideas?”
“It looks like Pinterest threw up in my cart.”
She laughs, and my breath catches at the sound. Man, I’d do just about anything to hear that every day.
“All right, Prince Charming. Tell me what all you have and I’ll help you narrow it down.”
A grin takes over my face. She’s happy. While talking to me. I guess those etiquette lessons weren’t entirely useless after all.
I list off everything I’ve got so far, and by the time I get to the end, I wish I had more just so I could continue listening to Aurora’s giggles. Maybe I’ll get lucky and hear them again later tonight.
“Okay, put everything back except one candle, one dessert, and a ceramic pumpkin.”
I frown. “That’s barely anything.”
“It’s perfect,” she corrects. “More than that will make her feel like she should have gotten you something. Trust me.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “I’ll put it all back. But if she’s not impressed, I’m blaming you.”
Another laugh floats through the phone. “She’ll probably cry on the spot.”
“If you say so.” I start to make my way around the store. “I guess now is as good a time as any to ask if I should wear anything special?”
In truth, I know this is a casual dinner. I know what Aurora is going to answer with. But I want to keep talking to her.
“Nothing fancy. A T-shirt and jeans is fine, or a sweater if you think you’ll get cold.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
I set all but one candle back on the shelf. My nose is starting to burn from all the scented products.
“And I’m meeting you in front of your building at five fifteen?” I ask another question I know the answer to.
“Yeah, that should give us plenty of time to get to their house,” she answers.
Someone calls her name. I hear her muffled reply that she’ll be out in a minute.
Her voice is clear again when she asks, “Did you need anything else?”
I rack my brain but can’t come up with anything else.
Just you, I almost say, but stop myself. No sense in ending our call with her calling me ridiculous. She’ll have plenty of opportunities to do that later, I’m sure.
“No, I’m all good.”
“Okay, then I’ll see you at five fifteen. And Hayes?”
The gentle way she says my name makes my brain trip over itself.
“Hm?” I manage.
“Thank you.” The words are lined with sincerity, and I feel like I finally did something right with my life.
“No problem,” I rasp.
She murmurs a goodbye, and we hang up. I finish putting away the majority of my shopping cart’s contents while replaying our conversation—mainly, her laugh—over and over.
As I’m finishing up my returns, my gaze snags on something pink.
It’s a small ceramic box in the shape of a heart, with a miniature ballerina on top.
I pick it up and open it. The inside is lined with velvet, probably meant to protect jewelry.
Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s pink or has a ballerina on top. But it feels like Aurora. I’m contemplating getting it when Forrest rounds the corner. He’s carrying two cases of protein bars, with three canisters of powder stacked on top.
“Can I get these?” he asks.
I tip my head toward the basket. “Put ’em in. Don’t crush any of my stuff, though.”
He sets them down carefully. Training at Haymakers is probably the most important thing to Forrest, and I know affording the proper fuel isn’t always easy for him.
He works a part-time job, but he shouldn’t have to spend that money on protein powder or food.
I’d rather him be a kid for as long as he can.
Do dumb stuff with his money and regret it later like all teenagers do.
“Is that all you want?” I ask him.
He scratches the back of his neck.
“It’s enough,” he answers.
“Not what I asked.”
He sighs. “I could use a few other things. They’re a good family, things are just … tight right now.”
I set the little box in the part of the cart where people usually set their kids, then gesture ahead of me.
“Come on, the quicker we get everything, the quicker we can go eat.”
His eyes light up at the mention of food. He rushes off in the direction of the grocery aisles, and I follow behind, feeling—not for the first time—like I don’t deserve the life I have.