Chapter 27

“Argh. The damn promise.” He reluctantly moved to one side, gestured her through the doorway half-filled by his body. She’d have to scoot close by him, turned either toward or away. “After you.”

Fine. She decided on turned-away and slid by, brushing against him lightly as she passed. She heard him draw in a quick breath and felt vindicated. Teach him to play with fire.

Except the way she was burning she wasn’t sure Nolan was the only one tempting fate. Other boyfriends had made her feel respected, desired, but this remarkable fascination Nolan had with her, insubstantial as it might be, and the electric force of his personality were heady and hard to resist.

She had to remember that Michelle was the one who professed to love Nolan, the one who’d be living with him for some time. She had to forget that Nolan seemed indifferent to Michelle’s flirtations, which had redoubled since that one odd phone call. Candace had to think of her sister first, how much Michelle deserved a stable relationship.

Candace rubbed at her arms uncomfortably. Something about her logic regarding Michelle’s chances with Nolan was starting to ring false, which made her feel slightly panicky and she wasn’t sure why. She crossed to her car, her buoyant mood bogged down in confusion.

At the supermarket, she parked, still unsettled, and they walked up the slope of the lot. The humidity was climbing, which ruined a perfectly good summer afternoon as far as Candace was concerned. But given that she was about to move to Langford, she better get used to it, the average temperature in Rosehill’s July was in the nineties, with jungle-like humidity. Every single day. She was pretty sure she’d get used to it.

Inside the supermarket, carriage rolling along—Nolan volunteered to push—they started in the produce aisle after he jokingly suggested they skip it for a direct trip to the meat counter.

“Mushrooms.” He picked up a package of baby portobellos. “Can’t have a steak without mushrooms.”

“Cooked on the grill, brushed with olive oil and thyme, maybe a little balsamic vinegar.”

“Oh, you are speaking my language, woman.”

Candace laughed and moved on, her down mood blasted out of existence by his sense of fun. Even in a supermarket. She felt bright and energized, half expecting the produce to wilt at her brilliance.

“You want salad, so lettuce…”

“Organic. Here. Though I haven’t figured out why they only package the good-for-the-environment lettuce in hard plastic.” She picked up a tub.

“See, that’s the advantage of the Man Diet—no vegetables to poison you or the planet.”

“Hmph. From what I’ve read, the meat industry does more damage.”

“My meat does no damage.” He waggled his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes.

She’d bet that wasn’t true at all. Women probably jumped off buildings in droves when he left them. The idea made her uneasy mood surface again. She pushed it away, helped gather other salad ingredients—carrots, scallions, cucumbers. “You and Michelle should start a garden out back. You can still plant lettuce and beets at this time of year.”

“Beets? You have got to be kidding me.” He picked out some cherry tomatoes. “You like these?”

“Love them. What kind of food did you eat growing up?”

“Traditional for the most part. Dad insisted on main meat and side starch. When he was away on business, Mom would go wild and serve soup or omelets, or even better, breakfast for dinner, like waffles with bacon. She’d experiment with ethnic foods, Oriental. Then dad would come home and it was back to pot roast and potatoes. His idea of adventurous foreign eating was lasagna. Snap peas?”

“Another favorite.” She put a handful into a plastic bag.

“What about you?”

“Gran was a great cook. Before that, with Mom, we ate take out, frozen dinners and anything that came out of a can. I was in charge of cooking pretty often, but my skills were limited. I remember trying to make sense of recipes in Mom’s Joy of Cooking once in a while, but we hardly had any ingredients in the house in the first place, and it was too much effort.”

“Wow.” He clutched celery to his chest. “I love that image. Celery?”

“Absolutely. Love what image?”

He put the celery in the cart. “You trying to make a normal family life for yourself and Michelle. It’s poignant, really. I had no idea your mom was so…”

“Absent?” Candace shrugged. “Mom was…is a very magnetic, charming and interesting person. With absolute zero impulse control.”

“More like Michelle, then. Eggplant?”

“Never.”

“I feel the same way.” He grinned and put it back. “So you take after your father?”

“I wish I could tell you. Never met the man, and Mom refuses to talk about him. But I always fantasized that he was just like me.”

“Hmm.” He held up two bags of bakery rolls, one white, one wheat. Candace pointed to wheat and he tossed it into the cart. “We’re batting nearly a thousand on taste compatibility. And I’m sorry about you missing out on having a father. If I’d known I could have sent you mine.”

“You didn’t want him?”

“I’m joking. Mostly. Dad can be a tough person to love, but we all do.” He stopped in front of the deli counter and examined the offerings. “My childhood was a catered picnic in comparison to yours.”

“There’s no point in comparing. We had life easier than others, who had it easier than plenty. When Gran and Grandad realized how bad things were with Mom, they snapped us right up.”

“And you’ve lived happily ever after.”

“So far, yes.” She pointed through the glass case. “Sliced turkey for lunches?”

“As long as we can have salami, too.”

“Psht, a no-brainer.” She ordered the amounts, along with sliced cheese.

“Meunster okay?”

“Can’t live a day without it.” He gaped at an enormous summer sausage behind the glass case. “You know mine is—”

“Not one more word.” She was quite sure she had never, ever had this much fun in a supermarket. Nolan was so alive and so enjoying himself— getting groceries, for heaven’s sake.

“Yes, ma’am.” He picked up a loaf of bread, passed it around his waist a few times, shot for the carriage…and missed. Laughed, scooped it up and deposited it more sedately among the salad items. “Basketball was never my thing.”

Candace laughed again, from sheer happiness. If Sam risked a similar move and missed, he would have sulked. He and she used to get into so many disagreements over brands, calories, nutrition, price, she finally laid down the law that one or the other of them would go food shopping— usually her—but not both.