Page 13 of Vermilion Desire

The ration of food should last us that long, give or take a few days if I’m so busy that I don’t even eat breakfast in the morning. Scarletta is not like me; she doesn’t have a body that’s used to quick meals and empty nourishment.

That is another rule for her. She must have three meals a day, and at least two of them are homemade. Fast food is an emergency food in our house, and don’t even get me started on the ‘healthy’ restaurants.

They leave out the harmful ingredients and who knows what the hell they substitute them with, and I’m not putting my baby’s stomach in a test of fate. Food poisoning isn’t a joke and based on her ability to fight off bacteria, there’s a low chance of her being able to skip pass poisoning.

“Do you think we have enough?” She peers into the basket, contemplating with a small tilt of her head.

“Yeah, it’s enough,” she answers her own question.

Shoppers find us an abnormal couple. From their scrutinizing gaze, I look like either her father or her damn kidnapper. That doesn’t make sense; she isn’t calling for help or even look remotely distressed.

Scarletta sticks to my side like glue and voluntarily holds my arm. It’s oddly domestic, and this experience deeply impacted my heart. I want more times like these to wash away the burden of being a detective with multiple unsolved cases due to cold leads.

Before I met Scarletta, I had no faith in humanity. After her, I know there is still some good left in this rotten world that’s regulated by money.

A few people rush past us, and flying through the aisles, they direct their path towards the entrance where a crowd of customers is surrounding something.

“You think they have free stuff there?” Scarletta raises to her toes, using me for balance to see what the commotion is all about.

“Huh.” She drops back on her feet. “Everyone is suddenly three feet taller.”

I chuckle, taking her to the checkout line. This section allows us to hear the commotion and see it while we check out everything. Everyone is over there chitter chatting with whatever the center point of interest is, and it leaves rows of uneventful lanes.

The lady at the end greets us with a smile and begins to process all the groceries. The total comes out, and I reach for my wallet, but Scarletta’s card is already in the machine. She cheekily grins at me, and the lady watches us with awe in her eyes.

She has seen couples before or those who look like they are together; this grocery store is one of the most frequented shops around here.

“I invaded your house,” she reasons.

The car machine beeps, and she slides her card into her wallet before shoving it into her backpack.

“Call it mid-month rent!”

“You’re living in my house for free,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “No way, we share the house.”

Even Cal knows that arguing with her means wasting his breath in an already lost fight before it starts. She has this look that makes me feel guilty for not letting her do what she wants, and she wants to pay rent.

Any sane person would jump at the chance to not pay rent.

She paid, and I take the bags in one hand while she helps with a single bag in her other. Scarletta steps closer to me as we approach the crowded area near the entrance, her small hand curling around my arm, so I don’t lose her in the struggle.

Roots of hatred wrap around my feet, planting them firmly on the ground as a seed of anger emerges and grows endlessly in the pit of my stomach.

Fucking Braxton Berkshire. In a grocery store. Near my fucking house.

With confident steps, he closes the distance between us with his fans trailing behind him in lines of desperate homeless pets formation.

I step one foot forward to let Scarletta blend into my side more and take the despicable criminal’s eyes away from her.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Charity, detective. It is what I do with my hard-earned money.”

Smug bastard and his vain façade. He doesn’t acknowledge Scarletta, nor does he even notice she is there, and I want it to stay that way. My patience with him is thin; any sudden movement would have his head under my combat boot.

“How generous of you.”

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