CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Several weeks later, Bee knew she had picked a bad cart before she made it through the automatic doors. One wheel rattled against the tile while another pulled the basket hard to the left.
She tightened both hands around the handle and forced it straight. The metal frame shuddered as if Bee were the one causing the problem.
“Of course,” Bee muttered.
An older woman passed with a cart of her own and glanced over at the noise. Bee looked down at the crooked wheel, then back at the woman.
“The cart,” Bee explained.
“They’re all like that,” the woman said with a knowing nod.
“Good,” Bee replied. “I was worried I picked the special one.”
The woman laughed and continued toward the registers. Bee pushed forward again, correcting the cart every few feet as she pulled Grandma’s folded grocery list from her pocket.
She had started enjoying ordinary things again. Going somewhere without wondering how to turn it into content felt private in a way she had forgotten she needed.
Bee checked Grandma’s list as she walked.
Coffee came first, followed by milk, eggs, potatoes, cereal, and several things Grandma had not written down because she apparently believed Bee should know the kitchen inventory by instinct.
Bee tossed a bag of chips into the cart that definitely was not on the list. Then she looked at Grandma’s handwriting as if the paper might object.
“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” Bee whispered to the list.
A man farther down the aisle glanced toward her.
Bee immediately turned the cart and kept moving before she had to explain why she was talking to a piece of paper.
By the time she reached the baking aisle, the basket was nearly half full.
Bee unfolded the list again and smiled when she saw the last item written near the bottom.
Blue Bird flour
Bee looked along the shelf until she found the familiar blue bag.
The sight no longer made her cringe, although Grandma still loved telling people about the day Bee came home carrying blue flowers instead.
She lifted the flour from the shelf and held it against her chest with exaggerated pride. The bag crinkled beneath her fingers.
“Look at me,” Bee said softly. “Personal growth.”
“Proud of you,” Wes said behind her.
Bee froze for a second with the flour pressed against her chest. She knew the voice before she turned around, but knowing did nothing to prepare her for actually seeing him.
Wes stood several feet away beside an empty cart. He held a small handwritten grocery list in one hand, and his other hand rested loosely on the cart handle.
He looked healthy now. There was no sling on his arm, and he no longer moved as if every part of his body had to negotiate with pain first.
His shoulders looked strong again, and his work boots were dusty. His long hair had fallen forward near one cheek in the same way it always had.
The nervousness in his face took Bee longer to notice. He did not seem irritated or uncomfortable. He seemed genuinely unsure of what she would do.
“Hi,” Wes said.
Bee shifted the flour in her arms. “Hi,” she replied.
Neither of them moved. A woman pushed a cart directly through the space between them, forcing Bee closer to the shelf while Wes pulled his cart back.
The interruption gave Bee a moment to collect herself. The store had not stopped simply because Wes was standing in front of her.
Wes glanced at the bag in Bee’s hands, and a small smile appeared on his face. His attention moved from the flour to Bee.
“You got the right one this time,” Wes said.
Bee looked down at the bag. “I’ve grown as a person,” she replied.
“I can see that,” Wes said.
Bee slowly lifted her eyes to him. Wes’s expression changed as he seemed to hear the comment the way she had.
“I meant because of the flour,” Wes added quickly.
“I know what you meant,” Bee replied.
“Good,” Wes said, sounding relieved.
Bee fought with a smile and lost. Wes noticed, but he did not tease her about it.
His eyes dropped to the grocery list in his hand. Bee watched him fold one corner of the paper between his fingers.
“Your mom still writes your grocery lists?” Bee asked.
Wes glanced down at the paper. “Apparently buying my own truck didn’t qualify me to make independent food decisions,” he replied.
“That seems reasonable,” Bee said.
“I’m thinking about ignoring half the list just to prove I can,” Wes replied.
Bee raised an eyebrow. “What happens when you go home?” she asked.
“My mom sends me back,” Wes admitted.
Bee laughed softly, and the sound surprised her more than it seemed to surprise him. She had imagined running into Wes before, but none of those imaginary conversations had become easy this quickly.
She put the flour into her cart and rested both hands on the handle. The broken wheel shifted sideways beneath the weight, but Bee barely noticed it.
“How’s the truck?” Bee asked.
Wes glanced toward the front of the store. “Good. I like it,” he replied.
“I saw the video,” Bee said.
His attention snapped back to her. “You did?” Wes asked.
“One video, Wes,” Bee warned.
“That still counts,” Wes replied.
“Don’t get excited,” Bee said.
“I’m not excited,” Wes answered.
Bee gave him a look and waited. She knew him well enough to recognize the smile he was trying to hide.
“Maybe a little,” Wes admitted.
Bee shook her head, but the smile stayed on her face. She hated how familiar that expression on him still felt.
Wes studied her for a moment, and the teasing disappeared from his face. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
“You look good,” Wes said.
“Thank you,” Bee replied.
“I mean happy,” Wes clarified.
Bee held his gaze and searched his face. A few weeks earlier, she might have wondered whether Wes was checking to see if she had suffered enough after losing him.
There was no challenge behind the words now. He genuinely wanted to know whether she was all right.
“I am,” Bee said.
Wes nodded slowly. “Good,” he replied.
Something in Bee’s chest loosened at the way he said it. There was no disappointment in his expression and no attempt to make her happiness about him.
“You look better too,” Bee said.
“I am,” Wes replied.
“Back at work?” Bee asked.
“Full time,” Wes answered.
Bee smiled. “I figured,” she said.
Wes tilted his head. “Are you stalking my TikTok?” he asked.
“I watched one video,” Bee replied.
“That sounds suspiciously specific,” Wes said.
“It means exactly what it sounds like,” Bee told him.
Wes nodded as if she had given him a serious warning. “Understood,” he said.
Bee laughed again, and neither of them looked surprised by it this time. She remembered how easy Wes had once been to talk to before everything between them became painful.
Wes glanced toward the Blue Bird flour sitting in her cart, and another smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Bee recognized the look before he spoke.
“I saw your dough video,” Wes said.
Bee immediately looked offended. “Which one?” she asked.
Wes blinked. “There’s more than one?” he asked.
“I’m practically an expert now,” Bee replied.
“Does Grandma agree?” Wes asked.
“No,” Bee admitted.
Wes nodded. “Then I believe Grandma,” he said.
Bee stared at him. “You didn’t even hear my argument,” she said.
“I’ve heard your arguments before,” Wes replied.
“That was rude,” Bee said.
“I’m just being honest,” Wes answered.
Bee tried to hold the glare, but his smile ruined it. For a few seconds, they sounded like themselves again.
The familiarity made Bee’s hands tighten around the cart handle. Wes noticed the change and stopped smiling, but he did not ask her to explain it.
“I should finish shopping,” Bee said. “Grandma’s going to think I disappeared.”
Wes nodded. “Yeah,” he replied.
Bee pushed the cart forward, and the damaged wheel immediately dragged it to the left. She corrected it and made it only a few steps down the aisle.
“Bee?” Wes called.
She stopped as her heart beat harder. When she turned back, Wes had not moved from where she left him.
“Can I say something?” Wes asked.
Bee hesitated before she answered. “All right,” she said.
Wes stayed where he was. He did not move closer, and Bee noticed that immediately.
“I owe you an apology,” Wes said.
Bee’s stomach tightened, and she wrapped both hands around the cart handle again. She had watched the video Wes posted after her response. In it, he said he had taken down his first post, admitted she had asked for space, and told his followers to leave her alone.
“You already apologized,” Bee said.
“I corrected what I did in public because I hurt you in public,” Wes replied. “That wasn’t the same as apologizing to you.”
“You apologized in the video,” Bee said.
“I apologized to a phone,” Wes replied. “You deserved one where I had to look at you while I said it.”
Bee watched him without offering a way around the silence. Wes left the distance between them exactly where she had put it.
“I was wrong,” Wes said. “About a lot of things.”
Bee swallowed but remained quiet. Part of her had wanted this conversation for weeks, and now that it was happening, she was not sure what she wanted to feel.
“I was angry about the accident,” Wes said. “I was angry about losing my truck, not working, needing help, and feeling like I couldn’t do anything for myself.”
His fingers tightened around the grocery list. Wes dropped his eyes to it for a second, then raised them to Bee.
“I kept putting all of it on you because you were there,” Wes said.
Bee lowered her gaze to the cart handle. She remembered every argument that followed the accident and how often she tried to understand what Wes was going through.
“You were my first girlfriend, and I didn’t know what I was doing,” Wes said. “That doesn’t excuse any of it. I kept acting like you were the one failing me when I was the one pushing you away.”
Bee’s grip shifted on the handle. Wes did not look away or wait for her to make the admission easier for him. His face tightened, but his voice stayed calm.