Page 68 of Runaway
I knew because I checked them daily.
The $500 that I'd originally given him lay in my pocket, and I silently tried to conspire a way to get him away from the checkout line so I could pay. We still had no second booking—not to mention the massive incoming storm that would surely detour tourists—to fall back on.
"Chocolate or caramel?" I asked.
He scoffed. "Always caramel."
"Fine. Try this one on for size: Cheery Bees cereal or the generic equivalent?"
"Generic." He tossed a small carton of OJ into the basket. "Always generic. C'mon, Stell. You're my accountant. Aren't you the one holding me to a budget?"
I laughed, eager to find more fodder for questions. Grocery shopping with Mark had been enlightening, to say the least.
"Sparkling water or plain?" I asked next.
"Chocolate milk."
"Not an option!"
"Always an option," he whispered dramatically. For every piece of junk food he put in the cart, I managed to squeeze in something with healthy value. The nasty sugar wafers, however, he just wouldn't part with no matter what I promised to give him instead, which was saying something.
His phone rang. The wordMomflashed across the screen with the call. My gut clenched from the unexpected surprise. Sara, his mother, had been a frequent topic of conversation between Megan and Mark the past evening. She was mentioned here and there, mostly with warmth, but sometimes the normal annoyance that comes with children and siblings. Mark was, clearly, close to her on several levels. The idea of meeting her caused me nerves, right up there withlosing my jobandformer boss unleashed.
Meeting the Mom was a big deal. In an involved family like Mark's, it was probably even bigger.
"Ma!" he called. "Where are you? We're in aisle twelve already."
I tilted my head to the side. What did he just say?
Mark shoved the cart to the side of the aisle, then turned around, the phone still pressed to his ear, and waved an arm. A woman at the other end lifted her hand. He grinned and hung up, shoving the phone into his pocket.
"You told your Mom we were at the grocery store?" I whispered.
"Oh yeah," he said, as if this was totally normal. "She lives and works up here. She meets me at my errands all the time."
"Seriously?"
He shrugged. "Why not? Then we get to see each other."
Seconds later, a woman uncannily like Megan collided with him. He wrapped her in a big bear hug that would have made me jealous had it been for anyone else. She had dark hair in a short ponytail, and, from what I could see, kind eyes. When she pulled away, those eyes danced with amusement.
"You must be Stella," she said with a broad grin. "The girl that has made my son so happy."
Heat flared to my cheeks as she yanked me into a hug. Doggone it, but that sounded both hilarious and ominous at the same time. Mark rolled his eyes and mouthed, "Sorry. So dramatic."
As if he hadsomuch room to talk.
But, to my astonishment, he didn't try to soften or take back what his mother had said. Then again, Mark wasn't the kind of guy to get embarrassed.
Sara pulled away and held me at arm's length. A maternal warmth emanated from her, and for just a moment, I wanted to curl up in her arms and ask her to play with my hair. She squeezed my arms, unapologetically excited to see me, and said, "Megan called me last night and gushed over you. Megan doesn't gush, so take it as the highest compliment. It's been a while since there's been any report of a woman in Mark's life to stay. I had to come over to meet you."
Like it wasn't a big deal that his family had been speaking about me, and in such warm terms. That his mom had stopped by the bread aisle, for heaven's sake, just to meet me in a quick whirlwind.
No wonder Mark had such power. When he had people like this surrounding him all the time, why wouldn't he be a force in the world?
As unconventional as it felt, standing next to the whole grain oats and wheat bran, I couldn't help but love Sara. She held onto me with one hand on my arm while she grilled Mark in the way that only a mother could. He accepted the torture of a caring mother the way any male adult would—with so much eye-rolling I thought he'd lose his irises in the back of his head.
But once she finished and embraced him again, he held her tight. Asked her about her latest date. Her newest haircut. Her raise. For a few minutes, they chatted back and forth while people whizzed past as if no one else were there. All the while, Sara didn't let go of my arm.
