The Prince's Bride (Part 1) - J.J. McAvoy Page 0,72
are ever in Ersovia, I will, and I’ll show you the man who made it,” he replied as he took off his seat belt.
I noticed the emphasis he put on the ever part of his reply, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I opened the door, and the first thing I noticed when a blast of cold air shot through me was that we had forgotten our coats.
“Sir.” Iskandar appeared right beside us with Gale’s wool coat in his hand. “You forgot this.”
“Let’s move for my sake then!” I yelled, hugging myself as I ran into the store. Hopping around, I tried to get the warmth in me quickly. Why was it so damn cold?
“What kind of run was that?” Gale laughed at me when he got inside.
“The kind people do when they don’t have a coat.”
“Here,” he said, putting his over my shoulders.
“No, what about you—”
“I will steal Iskandar’s if I need it. You, however, are still...um, cold.” His blue-green eyes shifted quickly to my chest and then back up.
I looked down and saw my nipples poking out of my sweater, telling all the world hello. Immediately, I closed the material over my chest and crossed my arms. Well, that was...embarrassing. “Let’s start shopping. Grab the cart.”
“The cart?” he repeated in confusion.
Oh, boy. This was going to interesting.
“So, you weigh these to find out the price?” I asked, watching as the red hand on the scale went up.
“Yes. Now put it in the bag,” Odette directed, pointing to the green plastic bags above the fruit.
I watched as a woman on another row of vegetables over pulled and then tore the bag before going to do the same. It was simple enough. However, for some reason, it was much longer than the other women. Which made Odette snicker.
“I am starting to think you brought me here to laugh at me,” I grumbled.
“A small part of me did,” she admitted, coming closer and showing me the perforated edge where I was supposed to tear it. “But part of me is also laughing because you are just like I was at sixteen going on seventeen. Chef Tremaine was chortling and chuckling the whole time as I went around the store.”
“You really liked this chef, didn’t you?” For some reason, the image of her as a young adult in a one-sided love story with a cook was very...sweet and cute.
“We all do something ridiculous when we really like someone.” She shrugged me off. “I bet you did, too.”
“Me? No, never,” I lied.
She gave me a look of total unbelief. “Yeah, sure, and I’m the Queen of England.”
“Hello, Elizabeth.” I nodded at her.
She rolled her eyes and shoved the bags into my hand. “Put parsley in it so we can get the chicken and go.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, my God, you are so frustrating.” She groaned, but I could see the amusement in her eyes.
Over the last three days, since she had been gone, I had come to the conclusion that I needed to stop trying to get her to fall for me as a lover and accept me as a friend first. I wanted to say I came to that conclusion all by myself, but my brother, Arty, actually had the insight I needed.
“So, there are five of us,” she muttered to herself as we walked toward the butcher’s section of the store. She was looking over the small list she had made on her phone.
I, however, was looking over her face—the curve of her nose, the smoothness of her lips, and how nice she looked without makeup.
“Three pounds of chicken thighs should be enough. What do you think?” Her head whipped to me far too quickly. Her brown eyes looked directly into me.
It took me a second to catch up, but she just shook her head. “Never mind. How would you know?” she said to herself and then looked over the counter at the man waiting. “Hello, can I get three pounds of fresh chicken thighs.”
“Seasoned or unseasoned,” he asked.
“Unseasoned, please,” she replied, bending over to look at their selection of meats.
I bent over beside her, too. “I saw a modern art piece once that had humans in a glass like this with animals pushing carts. I did not understand everything about it at the time, but now it is clear.”
Her head turned to me, and the look on her face was odd. “You sure know how to make conversation.” She giggled.
That sound, for some reason, made me feel good. “Thank you.”