Page 71 of Bitter Rival

“Oh. Well, thanks. For caring.” She quickly averts her gaze and stares out the side window like thanking me cost her a lot.

Instead of thanking me, she should be blaming me for putting her in that room in the first place, but those words never leave her mouth, and I don’t think she blames me at all. Which only makes me feel guiltier.

“Can we stop at the store on the way home? We need milk and coffee, and I need to buy tampons.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, sure.”

By the time I pull into the parking lot fifteen minutes later, Daisy is fast asleep, so I cut the engine and wait a few minutes, hoping the lack of motion will wake her.

When she doesn’t even stir, I leave her sleeping and go into the grocery store alone.

After filling my cart with chocolate and ice cream and enough oranges to ward off scurvy, should she ever be shipwrecked on a deserted island, I head to the feminine hygiene aisle.

The array of choices is so mind-boggling that I have to consult Google for answers.

How the fuck should I know if it’s a heavy flow or a light one? First day of her cycle or the middle of the cycle?

I’m so clearly out of my depth that I spend a good five minutes just staring at the shelves.

Fuck it. I grab jumbo boxes of every size and brand available and toss them into my cart until they are piled high.

Job done.

If there’s ever an apocalypse, Daisy won’t have to worry about running out of tampons.

I turn to go when someone calls my name.

Callie gives me a big smile as her gaze lowers to my cart. “So, I’m guessing you’re shopping for Daisy.”

“Well, they’re certainly not for me,” is my brilliant response.

She laughs. “Weird how we’re synced up, isn’t it?” Fantastic. Now I can chart Callie’s menstrual cycle, too. “You should get these.” She tosses a couple more boxes into my overflowing cart and chooses one for herself. Just the one.

“I’m all set. Thanks,” I say, pushing my cart up the aisle and veering right, away from Callie.

But she falls into step with me and pushes her cart alongside mine, continuing the conversation. “How’s Daisy’s wrist?”

“Sprained.”

“Ugh, that sucks. She’ll go stir-crazy if she can’t work on the vineyard. She’s used to always being on the move,” Callie says. “Traveling the world. Seeking new adventures. You’ll have to keep her entertained.”

“I’m sure she can entertain herself.” I scan the checkout lanes to see which has the shortest line and make a beeline for the one at the far end with only one person before me.

“She texted me from the hospital before the doctor saw her,” Callie says. “It meant a lot to her that you took time to be there for her. She was worried that she was wasting your time and keeping you from something more important.”

“She said that?” I don’t know why I’m questioning it. Daisy said as much in the car. But I didn’t realize she was so worried that she would feel compelled to mention it to Callie.

Now I’m wondering if I acted impatient or gave her the impression that she was wasting my time.

“Not in so many words. I read between the lines,” Callie admits. “But I get the feeling she’s used to handling things herself. It sounds as if she’s been on her own for a long time, but she plays it off like it’s no big deal, you know? So, what you did was really nice. Well…see you tomorrow.” She backs away and gives me a little wave before pushing her cart up an aisle to resume shopping.

I’m still thinking about Callie’s words when my phone pings with a text.

Grayson

Is this a good time to talk?

I do need to talk to Grayson.

---