Page 49 of Perfectly Grumpy

Once we’re outside and safely away from the house, Tate turns to me. “So, where are we going?”

“The grocery store,” I say, hurrying toward my car.

“Oh,” he says, almost sounding disappointed. “I thought it was something important.”

“It is important,” I say. “I need to give you a crash course on dating me.”

Tate quirks a brow but follows me to the car without argument. The ride to Harold’s Market is quiet, both of us processing the unexpected turn our evening has taken. I steal a glance at him while stopped at a traffic light. He doesn’t look upset about being dragged into my family free-for-all—just thoughtful, as if he’s calculating his next move.

“Thanks again,” I say, interrupting the silence. “For showing up tonight. Even though I told you not to.”

A hint of those dimples appears. “You’re welcome, Sunny.”

I can’t quite stop the smile that follows. Maybe this week won’t be a complete disaster after all.

The drive to Harold’s Market takes only five minutes, but it feels like a welcome breath of fresh air after the suffocating mix of family drama and surprise visitfrom my new boyfriend.

“Brace yourself,” I say. “If anyone sees us together, the entire town will know by breakfast.” When we arrive, I grab a cart and head for the produce aisle, speed-walking past the checkout aisles near the door. This is where the loose lips of Sully’s Beach love to share gossip while their groceries get bagged.

It’s not until I stop at the mountain of cantaloupe that I realize Tate is not behind me. I spin around, only to see him being cornered by Delilah, who apparently was checking out as Tate strolled through. She glances between Tate and me with that expression I know all too well, and I back my cart up faster than a cop can throw his car in reverse.

“Well, hello, Miss Delilah, hello, Miss Tina,” I say, pulling up next to the checkout lane where Tina is bagging her groceries. Tina is Leo’s birth mom, and she only recently settled in Sully’s Beach to be closer to her hockey-playing son.

“I see you’re shopping late tonight,” I say to Delilah. “Aren’t you missing your favorite game show right now?” I’m hoping this reminder will hurry her along.

“Oh no,Wheel of Fortunewas already on at six. I prefer coming to the market before closing time. You always run into people in a personal crisis at this hour.”

“How is Big Bertha?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation toward her overweight parrot.

“Oh, swearing like a sailor as usual,” she says with a sigh. “We’ve tried to improve his manners, but he’s resistant. Apparently, you can’t teach an old bird new tricks.”

“How unfortunate,” I say, biting back a smile. “Well, if you’ll excuse us…”

I try to grab Tate’s arm and yank him toward the produce aisle, but Delilah is too quick.

“What brings you to Harold’s Market so late?”

I brush my hair over one ear. “Last-minute supplies for my family reunion. Nothing exciting, really.” Then I turn to go, the wheel on the cart squeaking as I forge ahead.

Delilah steps in my way, looking like she has all the time in the world for a friendly chat. “Tate is attending your family reunion?”

My eyes flick uncertainly to Tate, then back to Delilah. “Oh, you know Tate. He heard my Family Olympics had a paintball category, so naturally, he insisted on tagging along.”

“Oh, really?”

“He has many talents, don’t you, Tate?” He doesn’t answer right away, and I have to elbow him in the side.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, frowning like he’s confused why this is a question. “Statistically speaking, the odds of hitting potential in-laws with paint capsules are just too satisfying to pass up.”

Delilah’s mouth falls open slightly.

“He’s joking,” I add quickly, though Tate’s deadpan delivery makes it impossible to tell. “He’s actually very gentle. Aren’t you, Tate?”

He looks at me. “Only when I have the right target.”

My heart does a weird flutter in my chest as I look away.

“Does this mean he’s your partner for the Family Olympics, then?” Delilah is greedily soaking this up. “Because I heard Bart and Abby pretty much have the competition sewn up.”

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