Page 41 of Welker

She looked almost…shocked?

“Welker?”

“Yeah, Moira?” he grinned.

“You’re not only going to say yes to a new, untried recipe, you’re going to…let me cook? In your kitchen?” she stammered.

“Of course,” Welker laughed. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I want to.” Her eyes lit up with excitement.

It killed him that something so small could change her entire countenance. What the hell had Moira been through that had made her so insecure? The list of Welker’s questions kept getting longer and longer.

“Good then,” he managed. “Now tell me what I should buy.”

Moira rattled off the list of ingredients like she’d made the dish a hundred times before, instead of just seeing it once on TV. He was impressed, and told her so, but she scoffed, telling him to hold his praise for after he’d eaten it.

Welker knew his opinion wouldn’t change.

They took a few more minutes to discuss breakfast foods, snacks, and beverages before Welker got a decent picture of what, exactly, Moira fancied. Even though she didn’t know it, she clearly had her preferences; fruits, vegetables, and carbs, with a smidgeon of protein thrown in.

He could work with that.

They got out of the car, then split up once they passed through the large, sliding doors.

Moira went left, Welker went right, telling her they’d meet up at the registers when they were finished, while also impressing upon her that she should take her time.

Welker knew, even then, that she’d try to be finished long before him.

He also knew what would be in his cart when they were finished.

He couldn’t wait to see what would be in Moira’s.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shopping sucked.

Moira wound her empty cart through the jungle of racks, her eyes bouncing from display to display, wondering what the hell she was going to do. How was she supposed to pick out anything? She was so far out of her league it wasn’t funny. The one piece of feminine clothing she’d owned back in college had been a little black dress, because that’s what TV and magazines had said was appropriate for going out. It had worked at the time, but certainly wouldn’t help, now. That “must-have” addition for a woman’s closet wouldn’t be right for the venue Cisco had described tonight. The place sounded far more casual.

Should she buy jeans? A T-shirt?

Maybe. But…

Her eyes went longingly to the sweat-clothes racks, wanting nothing more than to grab a handful of the familiar material and run.

She sighed, finding herself not wanting to disappoint Welker, and wasn’t that a kick in the shins. He shouldn’t even be in the equation. She was her own person, dammit, and her choices should have nothing to do with impressing him.

Defiantly, she grabbed two sweatshirts and two matching, string-waisted pairs of pants, dropping them into her cart. The action made her feel somewhat better.

Still… Welker or not, she needed to dress appropriately tonight. Which meant… Moira drew in a long-suffering breath and turned to the jeans. When was the last time she’d owned a pair, or even tried any on? Uh, maybe when she was ten?

She eyeballed the sizes, and having no clue what the numbers meant since her wardrobe revolved around small, medium, and large, she went with a range; picking the plainest, least decorated pairs she could find. No frou-frou stitching on the pockets, no bling on the behind, no pre-ripped knees. Just straight-ass denim pants that might or might not fit her ass.

The T-shirt section was a bit easier to maneuver. Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked a fitted style—definitely outside her comfort zone—and dumped four different colors into her cart.

There. See? She could be an adult.

Underwear was next, but as she walked toward that section, she stopped in her tracks, blindsided by an end-of-summer sale rack where a sundress poked out, catching her eye. The pretty material was a sunny yellow, and covered with a plethora of colorful birds.

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