Page 54 of The Serendipity

Wherever Trey wants to shop, that’s fine. But this ismySpring Foods, and he knows it.

Or heshould. Even after four years apart, Trey should remember that this ismysignature store and choose another out of respect. But maybe he’s moved on to the point that he doesn’t remember. Or care.

I honestly don’t know which is worse: him not remembering, or him remembering and not caring.

It’s a moot point when what I’mreallyworried about right now is Trey spotting me. Because I am in no way mentally or emotionally or vocabulary-ally prepared to speak to him right now. I will absolutely end up having anI carried a watermelonword vomit moment if he tries to talk to me.

I thought I had time before running into him. Like, maybe a few months. Or a year. Plenty of time to go over potential scenarios in my head and come up with wonderful and witty things to say. The kinds of things that don’t make me sound like a total loser who’s still living in the same town, still single, and about to bankrupt my small business, while he’s back from France with a new fiancée.

And an attempt at a man bun, I remind myself, which gives me some small semblance of satisfaction. I mean, good for guys who can pull off a man bun. Some do exist. Usually thelumberjack type, pairing it with a full beard, soulful eyes, and flannel.

But that’s a very short list, and I can guarantee Trey will never be on it. I’m not being petty. Just honest. He’s got more of a soft, happy face without the kind of bone structure that can offset a man bun.

“Just think of the bullet I dodged,” I tell the lobsters. But they’ve lost interest in my drama and have slowly drifted toward the other end of the tank.

Where, unfortunately for me and my verbal processing to captive crustaceans, an actual customer now stands. Since I’m still crouching, the first thing I see through the tank is a dark suit. Who wears a suit grocery shopping?

With almost as much cold dread as I felt seeing Trey, my brain immediately thinks of one person who wouldabsolutelywear a suit to the grocery store. He’d probably also wear it to get a new driver’s license or to a sporting event, were he to ever attend such a thing.

Archer Gaines. Because of course he would also be shopping at my favorite store right now. It’s how my life works.

But I’m not positive it’s him until Archer ducks down, his face appearing on the other side of the tank. Our gazes lock with lobsters between us. His irritated expression is comically distorted through the water, making his normally sharp jaw look wider and rounder, giving Mr. Potato Head vibes. It also creates the illusion of Eugene Levy eyebrows.

I stand up. Across from me, Archer straightens to his full height, frowning deeply.

“You’re ubiquitous,” I tell him, shaking my head.

His frown deepens. “I’m what?”

“It means everywhere at once.”

I don’t know why, but I remember almost all my high school vocabulary words, andubiquitouswas one. Perfect for Archersince I can’t escape him. Even when I really, really want to. Like right now, when I’m already trying to avoid someone else I really don’t want to see.

Get in line, buddy.

Though, in this case, I’m surprised to feel like Archer is the lesser of two evils. I can’t even muster up anger when I think about him ruining my business and essentially kicking me out of my apartment.

“What brings you to Spring Foods on this fine day?” I ask. “Spring Foods doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

I glance pointedly at the giant chicken mural above our heads. Since we’re in the seafood section, it’s a chicken with a mermaid tail, which I guess makes it a merchicken?

When I was in high school, Spring Foods decided to start a loyalty program for customers. And whatever genius was in charge of this campaign named the loyalty members Spring Chickens. Serendipity Springs heartily embraced this, which led to the company really going all in on the Spring Chickens thing. There are chickens everywhere. Bumper stickers that sayI’m a Spring Chicken!And a whole line of t-shirts. The first official day of spring every year, the stores all have someone dress up like a chicken and take pictures with kids, kind of like Santa or the Easter Bunny.

Needless to say, Archer Gaines is no Spring Chicken.

Archer’s gaze follows mine to the merchicken, and his grumpy expression intensifies. “Grocery stores in general aren’tmy scene,” he mutters. “But I couldn’t get delivery to work.”

“What do you mean you couldn’t get it to work?” I know for a fact that several different stores will deliver groceries to The Serendipity. If I have to worry about running into both TreyandArcher here, I might be forced to switch to delivery myself.

“It just … wouldn’t work.” Archer glares down at the phone in his hand, and I don’t miss the way his grip tightens around it. “Like everything else right now,” he mutters. “Nothingworks.”

Bellamy’s words choose this moment to come back to me.He deserves a chance.

The stubborn part of me still doesn’t want to give him one. But I’m softening as I watch the tension radiating off him.

Archer strikes me as intensely private and closed off. But I can’t miss the obvious signs of stress. The mints are nowhere to be seen, but it’s in the flush of his cheeks and the white-knuckled grip on his phone. There’s almost a visible shimmer of tension radiating off his body, like heat on a summer blacktop.

This is more than stress. It’s the tight coil of anxiety I wish I weren’t intimately familiar with.

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