Page 31 of Fighter
She cut me a suspicious glance. “You're not planning more sandwiches are you?”
“Don't insult me.”
“Peas?”
“Not if you don't like them.”
“Beans?”
“Maybe in a casserole with a lot of cheese?”
Relieved, she grinned. “Okay.”
Once inside the store, I stopped to gaze around. I'd spent thirty minutes on the phone with Mom trying to get meal and snack ideas. Despite what Benjamin likely thought of my culinary skills, I'd almost exhausted my repertoire of family meals already.
“I'm thinking yummy stuff,” I said as I grabbed a cart. “Liked sweet potatoes or salad that tastes like tacos or apples with peanut butter?”
Her eyes popped open wide. “Yes!” she cried, “I love apples with peanut butter!”
“Then let's go,” I cried. “I'll even show you how to make a flower out of apple slices and peanut butter. You're gonna love it. Also, don't let me forget mouse traps. Those buggers gotta go.”
Ava skipped along next to me. Like her father, she often communicated through throaty noises, whether they were grunts or squeaks of approval. Sometimes, she hummed. For the most part, she trotted along and tried to stuff the cart full of a constant stream of dessert. I appreciated her efforts and felt the same way, but turned her down more often than not.
And Ava was full of words.
“Then,” she cried as I put a few groceries on the belt, “Mrs. Morgan said that I did a really good job with my letters and I got Star Student of the Week!”
A bag of pasta rustled in my hand as I whistled my congratulations. The cashier glanced up to me, looked to Ava, and back to me. Unabashed curiosity crept into her stare as she slowly started to scan each item. I tried to ignore it as some weird fluke—maybe I had food in my teeth or something—but the way her gaze darted between me and Ava had my hackles up.
Want to take a picture?I wanted to ask.
Once I finished unloading the groceries and pushed the cart forward with Ava standing on the side, the woman cleared her throat.
“So,” she drawled. “You're that waitress from the Diner?”
“Yes.”
She made a sound as she swiped green onions across the scanner. “And you're taking care of this adorable girl? I saw you drive up in his SUV. I admit, I was quite surprised. He's so . . . careful. So quiet.”
HisSUV rang through my mind. Were we talking about Benjamin because they were buddies? The feeling of having missed a step overcame me. Was there something odd about this situation or was that just me?
“You're a lovely girl, you know,” the woman crooned to Ava.
Ava lifted one eyebrow. She carried many of her father's traits, but right then, I appreciated her skepticism the most.
“We're here to get groceries,” I said. “That's all.”
Delight illuminated the older woman's expression. “Indeed,” she murmured over a carton of eggs, then leaned forward. “Is Benjamin Mercedy on the dating market again then? Or have you taken him off of it? How long have you been with him? A man like him with a waitress?” She shivered, as if with delight. “It's just toogood. Patrice will never believe this!”
My hands clenched around the cart. Dagny had always rolled her eyes aboutsmall-town mountain lifeand the gossip that often moved like wildfire. I'd always ignored it, assuming she was being dramatic, but the proof lay before me now. Meddling, bored ladies with nothing better to do.
The phrasea man like him with a waitressskimmed through my mind. The temptation to show her just what this waitress could do to her attitude was tempting, but I let it pass. Then again, I'd listened in to any gossip about Ben just like anyone else. Although I hadn't badgered information from anyone. Hewasthe local celebrity. His very presence put Pineville on the map and probably increased tourism by about ten percent.
Now?
I wanted to take one of those stale grocery bags and drop it over her head.
“I wouldn't know,” I said coolly. “Can we please continue with the groceries?”
