two of us, where he can really help deepen my poses and give me a good stretch.” She winked.
Isabel gasped with delight. “You’ve been trying to get him one-on-one for months.”
“I know. He really made me work for it, too. I mean, you had to get robbed at knifepoint for Pete’s sake.” She walked back around the desk like she no longer needed it as a barrier. “I propose you skedaddle and go see your hottie early for dinner,” she said, using air quotes with the last word.
Dinner and dessert with lots of icing and several cherries. Isabel’s heart fluttered with anticipation, but guilt was quick on its heels. “I’ve already missed two days this week, leaving you to handle everything. I’d be a horrible friend if I skipped out early tonight, especially when I asked you not to change your schedule for me.”
“Pish, posh. Make it up to me by sharing a few juicy tidbits.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Okay. You really are the best friend I could ask for.”
Brenda nodded with a smug smile.
Isabel called for her car, wrapped up the rest of what she was doing, grabbed her purse from the office and went to the grocery store.
Inside, she headed straight for the fish department and waited in line for her turn.
A young man wearing Dickies work pants and a black shirt buttoned only at the top with a white tank top underneath, sneakers and a black-and-white bandana on his head came up to the front of the large case where the fish was displayed and looked around.
“How can I help you?” the fishmonger asked her after he was done with the last customer.
“I’m cooking seafood fra diavolo for two. Can you wrap up a mix of what’s freshest?”
“I’ve got some nice lobster tails, scallops and these beauties.” The fishmonger held up a handful of the plumpest shrimp she’d ever seen.
“Perfect.”
“Want me to prep it for you, remove the shells and devein the shrimp?”
That was why this was her favorite grocery store. “Yes, that’d be lovely.”
“Finish shopping, ma’am, and it’ll be here on the counter for you.”
“Thank you.” Isabel strode off and grabbed linguini and a can of tomatoes. She turned to find the rest of the ingredients and spotted the same guy in a black shirt and Dickies strolling past her aisle.
He glanced at her for one heartbeat too long, but he kept going. A creeping tension sent a shiver up her spine when she realized he wasn’t pushing a cart and didn’t have a basket.
Her first impulse was to call Dutch, but she was in a well-lit public place and could handle herself. She didn’t need anyone’s help.
Get a grip, Isabel. You of all people know better than to stereotype that guy. The whole world isn’t out to get you. Only Chad.
She mentally checked off what else she needed and hurried to get the items. As she picked out a couple of salad dressings Dutch might like, the guy with the bandana showed up again. He didn’t look at her. Standing in front of the ketchup, he took a bottle from the shelf and turned it over, as if he was reading the ingredients.
“It’s nothing,” she said to herself, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the guy.
She went to the produce section. Looking over the herbs, she threw a bundle of parsley in her basket. The main dessert would hopefully be in the bedroom, but they’d cap off dinner with something light. Maybe a fruit salad.
Breezing past the stands, she tossed a ripe variety in her basket. She stopped in front of the cantaloupe, deciding if she wanted to dice one up or simply buy it chopped and prepackaged.
Another customer waltzed up beside her, bumping her basket. A hand with tattoos inked on the back grabbed a cantaloupe. “Do you know how to pick a good melon?” he asked.
She glanced over at the man. The one who looked like a gangbanger and kept popping up in the same parts of the store. He had two teardrop tattoos below the corner of his eye.
“No. Sorry.” Spinning on her heel, she walked away. Forget the melon.
“Hey. Your stuff is ready,” he called to her.
She pivoted and looked back at him. “What did you say?”
“Your seafood.” He hiked a thumb toward the fish department. “It’s on the counter waiting for you.”
All the spit dried in her mouth, but she managed to say, “Thank you.”
It was odd, yes, but he was only being friendly, and