Page 70 of Beau and the Beast

It was a minefield of unfriendly shoppers with their hand baskets and carts, and everyone seemed to be staring at him, the little man with the cane and the rolling bag and the fucked up face. No matter where he paused, he was in someone's way. His joints were aching from trying to manage the hand basket and the cane at the same time. Noah wanted to disappear.

He turned in on himself, flipping his hoodie up and trying to compare two brands of ramen. Everything was so loud and overstimulating, though, that it felt like he couldn't clear the static from his head.

He could sense, after a moment, that someone was standing behind him—that he was in the way again—but Noah gritted his teeth and decided this time he wouldn't give in. They could wait their damned turn.

"Noah?"

Someone touched his shoulder.

Noah spun too fast, losing his balance and knocking soup cans flying, and the man who had touched him dropped what he'd been holding to reach out with both hands, steadying Noah by the shoulders, keeping him from falling at the last minute. The cardboard box he'd held—a case of beer, Noah realized—fell to the floor with an awful crash and everyone on the aisle turned to look at them.

It was Lincoln, Noah realized. Lincoln had recognized him.

He held Noah for a beat, making sure he was steady on his feet before releasing him. Lincoln stooped to grab the soup cans that had rolled to a stop on the floor. A man with a cart stood uncomfortably close, clearly eager to get by them, and he cleared his throat.

"Get bent, buddy," Lincoln said, turning to the man. When the stranger didn't move, Lincoln postured up and tossed one of the cans in the air before catching it, as if he was fighting the deep desire to lob one at the man’s head.

The man scoffed but after a moment he turned his buggy around and went the other way down the aisle.

"Beer at eight in the morning?" Noah asked, gesturing at what Lincoln had been holding. "Real classy, dude."

Lincoln frowned but for once didn't have a comeback ready. His frat-boy good looks weren't quite the same as they had been the last time Noah had seen him.

He was staring Noah right in the face, he realized. When they’d spent time together before, Lincoln had always found some excuse not to look at him—which wasn’t unusual, granted, but had only served to make Noah hate him more. Today, though, Lincoln looked right at him.

Lincoln looked gaunt, drawn in some way that he hadn't before.

"You look like you haven't slept in a week," Noah said.

Lincoln snorted and reached for Noah's hand basket, wresting it away from him without a word. He put the ramen Noah had picked out back on the shelf and then walked away, weaving through the crowd.

"Hey, what the fuck?" Noah called after him. "Hang on!"

It took him several minutes to make his way through the crowd of other shoppers, and when he caught up with Lincoln, the man had taken everything out of his basket and replaced it with different groceries. Noah could see real canned soups with vegetables in them, two jars of peanut butter, tofu, oranges, noodles, and expensive-looking pasta sauce—and that was just at the top of the basket. He'd grabbed enough stuff to feed an army.

"You get a new gig as a personal shopper? I can't afford any of this—and how would I carry it?" Noah asked.

Lincoln just narrowed his eyes at Noah and stepped past him to the counter.

"What the hell?" Noah asked, struggling up to the counter next to him.

He watched Lincoln unload the groceries onto the counter along with his case of beer, then pass his debit card over to the cashier.

"I can't even carry all of this stuff, Lincoln," he protested. "I just have this little bag."

Once he'd paid, Lincoln hefted the bags and the beer and stepped out of the bodega. Noah followed him. Once they were on the street, at least, he could breathe a little easier.

Lincoln stooped, setting the groceries on the sidewalk and then grabbed Noah's bag.

"What're you doing?"

"You can carry my beer," Lincoln said, zipping the box into Noah's rolling backpack. "I'll carry the rest. Come on."

He strode to the corner, not looking back to see if Noah was following. Dumbfounded, Noah did his best to catch up.

"What the hell are you doing?" Noah asked, feeling like a broken record.

"We have the light, come on," Lincoln said, placing a hand on Noah’s back as they crossed the street in front of the waiting traffic and headed down the block toward Noah's apartment.

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