Page 77 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

I find pizza and chicken tenders and a container of macaroni and cheese that seems a little congealed but looks edible. There are bowls of salads and cups of cut-up fruits and vegetables and I pile it all in my cart.

“Are you having a party and haven’t told me?”

I look up with surprise to find Silas beside me with his own cart. Unlike mine, his is full of reusable mesh bags holding brightly coloured fruits and vegetables—not the pre-cut kind—and a sheaf of green leaves that I suspect is kale.

And then I stop investigating his cart and look at Silas. “Hi.”

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says with a chuckle. “This might be the last place I’d expect to see you.”

Silas Bell has a very pleasing mouth. Lips that are not too full, not too thin, but are just right, much like Goldilock’s porridge. Wide, but not too big. Teeth that might have benefitted from an extra few trips to the orthodontist and a pack of Crest Whitening Strips but seem perfect to me.

There is nothing about Silas that I don’t like, and I usually find something that I don’t like.

This scares me almost out of the store.

“I thought the last place would be cleaning a bathroom,” I say instead of making a run for it.

Even after a shower, I can’t get the smell of the cleaning products off my hands. I added extra moisturizer as well. “I ate all of Edie’s crackers and need to find food,” I tell him. “Is this what happens in small towns? You bump into people at the grocery store? Because I’ve never found a friend at Whole Foods.”

Silas narrows his eyes. “And how often do you go to Whole Foods?”

“Not very often,” I admit. “But look at me. I’m shopping.”

He glances down at my selection. “For yourself or the entire town? Because you’re not going to be able to eat all that yourself before it goes bad.”

I never thought of that. Food only lasts so long. I can always stop here before every meal but that seems like it would be a pain.

“I never like coming here when I’m hungry because I end up buying too much, or stuff that’s bad for me,” he says.

I wonder what Silas would consider bad for him.

“It’s not that I’m hungry—well, I guess I am—but I don’t know what to get. What are you buying?”

He gestures to the cart. “I’m making kale and bean soup.”

“Sounds good.” I’m not sure about the soup, but who knows? Ada has made stranger things.

“Do you know how to cook, Fenella?” Silas asks. He looks like he already knows the answer.

“Not really, no.”

He reaches in to take the tenders out of my cart. “They’re not good after tomorrow, so I wouldn’t eat them. Want me to make you dinner? Teach you a few things along the way?”

He says this without an ounce of patronizing or like he’s criticizing.

“Are you serious?”

“About the best before date? Look.” He hands me the package.

“No, about teaching me to cook.”

“Depends on what you want to cook. I’m okay, but I’m no Michelin-starred chef.”

“You know about Michelin stars?”

Silas grins, the relaxed one he uses when he likes someone. A warmth starts in my stomach at the thought of being one of those people. “I watch The Bear.”

Because of that warmth, my smile isn’t as easy but it gets there, and it’s real. “It’s a good show. He’s really sweet.”

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