I must look like an idiot with my mouth agape because he takes a step back. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels like he might turn and go. The thought forces words from my mouth too quickly.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shoving the cart between us like some kind of shield.
“Um, getting groceries.”
“Yeah. Of course.” Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I don’t know what else to say or if I should say anything at all. We just look at each other like two people who once knew each other so intimately and are now as much strangers as people can get. Two people who know the depths of love and pain too great to ignore.
He holds a hand to his chest in a move I’m not sure he realizes he makes. My heart tugs as I look at the spot where my head used to lie while we snuggled on the couch and watched movies.
Stop. It. Neely.
“So, blueberries?” He nods toward my cart.
“Not my favorite, but there aren’t any strawberries that look edible.”
“But I thought you were allergic?” He nods to the container again. “Don’t you blow up like that little girl on Willy Wonka when you eat those things?”
Laughing despite my insides collapsing that he remembered, I shrug. “How did you remember that?”
“Matt teased you about it for years.” He chuckles. “How could I not?”
“Well, Matt will be happy to know I outgrew that allergy and no longer plump up like a, well, a berry when I eat them.”
My laughter fades, but the smile remains. It doesn’t vanish even when my brain tells it to. Before I know it, his smile pulls mine right along with it.
“I didn’t know you could outgrow a fruit allergy,” he says.
“Guess you can. Or maybe it wasn’t the blueberries after all. I don’t know.”
“Did you wake up one day and decide to risk it? Seems pretty ballsy, if you ask me.”
“Actually,” I tell him, “I ordered a muffin at this little shop in New York that I love. I didn’t know it had blueberries in it until after I ate the whole thing, and I didn’t get sick.”
“But you still could’ve,” he counters. “Maybe that one muffin was an anomaly.”
“Maybe. But I’ve had blueberries about a million times since then, and . . . nothing.”
“You always were a gambler.” He winks.
“Were a gambler. Were. Past tense. Trust me,” I say. “Gambling is for the young and dumb, and I am not either anymore.”
He tosses me a soft, genuine smile that makes my insides melt. “I never would’ve called you dumb.”
I put the berries in my cart and consider how dumb I am right now to be talking to him like this. As I turn the corner, my phone buzzes in my bag. I don’t have to look to know it’s seven thirty and the call is from Grace. She’s walking to work, probably venting about the sidewalks being closed and how slow people are walking. Instead of being in the office, laughing at her antics, I’m . . . here.
I look at Dane. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Passing a swallow down my throat, I sigh. “I’m certainly not young anymore.”
“You’re not even thirty, Neely.”
“True. But when you’re close enough to thirty to say you’re ‘not even thirty,’ that means you’re basically thirty.”
“It’s just an age.”
“True, I guess,” I say. “But I’m old enough to need to be a little more sure-footed in things. I don’t have my twenties in front of me to take risks and recoup quickly.” I take in his somber expression and hear the buzz of my voice mail chirp in my purse. “I have to stop putting all my hopes on the line without some safety net. It’s too big of a gamble. I’ve fallen too hard, too many times.”
His chin drops and he looks away. My insides squeeze as if they’re chastising me for causing this reaction. Ignoring the tightening in my gut, I eke out a breath.
“You probably think I meant that about you—” I rush, but he cuts me off.
“Yeah, and you’re right. If you don’t pay attention, life gets all messed up. I’m not fucked up about it.”
The air is heavier than it was a few seconds ago, riding on our shoulders as we crawl past salad dressings. The force presses my sandals into the cheap linoleum floor, and I have to make an effort to pick them up and move them forward.
He chews on his bottom lip. “But you know, sometimes when things fall apart, you can learn something to help you the next time. Makes it less like gambling. You can still win.”
“Good to hear.”
“It’s life, Neely,” he says. “Live and learn.”
“I guess when some of us fall, and we were all in, it must hurt a little more. You probably don’t understand that,” I fire back.
Our gazes snap together. He bites his lip harder—to keep from saying something? I’m not sure.
“Fair enough,” he mutters.
The back of my neck tightens as his tone washes over me. I bite my lip, too, in the hope that it keeps me from saying anything else, but I succumb to guilt.
Despite whether that was deserved, why waste our time on it?
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair,” I say.
“Nah, it was.”
“It was,” I emphasize. “But I shouldn’t have said it like that. It makes me seem classless.”
“Oh,” he says, his grin returning. “You’re sorry so you don’t feel like an ass. Not because it might’ve hurt my feelings?”
“Exactly.”
“So classy of you, Neely.”
“The last time I talked to you, I was pretty convinced you didn’t have feelings.” I laugh. “So, pardon me.”
He considers this as he plops a box of fruity cereal into his cart. “Okay. I can see where you’re coming from there, and I can’t argue it.”
“Really?”
“I’m not saying you’re right. Don’t get excited.”
“I was so close,” I say, feigning defeat.
“Let’s not get crazy, babe.”
His term of endearment has me stutter-stepping around the endcap. My shoulder hits a tower of potato chips, and the plastic rustles together, knocking one bag to the floor. I peek at him from the corner of my eye. He’s looking at me with a dose of caution.
“Sorry.” He winces. “It just slipped out.”
“Apology accepted.”
Our gazes refuse to break, although he’s trying as hard as I am to look away. He finally bends to get the dropped chips as I fan my face to quell the blush in my cheeks.
“I don’t think it’s crushed too bad,” he says, situating the bag on the rack.
“Just give it to me.” I take it off the rack again and toss it in my cart. “I’ll have a guilty conscience otherwise.”
He laughs freely but doesn’t comment. Instead, we continue down the aisle, going so slowly I could probably read every label as we pass. He points to little cakes shaped like stars with lime-green icing. Memories of those sitting in the passenger’s seat of his car when he picked me up for school make my chest ache so hard it steals my breath.
“I haven’t had one of those in forever,” I say.
“I get them sometimes.” He shrugs, the ridge of his shoulders flexing against the fabric of his shirt. “They’re smaller than I remembered, though. They’re half the size of my hand.” He holds his hand out to demonstrate.
“What did you do to your thumb?” The nail is a gnarly shade of purple, and the end is almost double the size of his other fingers.
“Hammer.” He makes a motion like he’s swinging a tool toward his thumb and makes a popping noise.
“Guess you didn’t take after your father after all,” I goad.
“That’s not nice.”
“That’s true. How many times has he hit his finger? Never. Because he’s the best.”
“You wound me.” He tries to pout but ends up laughing. “He’d like to see you, you know.”
My eyes dart to the floor. Leaving and never checking in with Nick was unfair. He was so good to me, loved me, even, and I just left. It was easy to rationalize then. He had Dane and his decisions to deal with, and I told myself having anything to do with either of them would only complicate things. That the responsible thing to do was just stay away.
That got harder as the years went on. I’d remember his birthday and want to send a card or see his favorite saltwater taffy and want to ship some his way.
I should see him. I want to, even. But the idea of being hit in the face with a family that isn’t mine sends the lump in my throat rising.
“Yeah, well,” I begin, clearing my throat. “I’m not sure I’ll have time.”
He nods, his face falling. “I get it. How long did you say you’ll be around?”
“A few days, most likely,” I say off the cuff. “Hopefully not longer than that.”
I make a turn down the bread aisle, and he follows suit. I wonder how long he’s going to follow me. I also wonder how much I’m going to buy before I have the balls to walk away.
“Why? You have something against this place?” he asks, his cart rolling to a stop. “Pretty sure Dogwood Lane is fond of you.”