Page 32 of The Question of Us
Mads grabbed a basket, shoved it my way, and began issuing instructions. “I’ll grab a couple of healthy meal options for the next few days while you find some beer for Gazza and something easy for breakfast.”
I groaned. “I’m guessing that means no pizza for dinner, right?”
He flicked me on the nose. “No, no pizza. You’ve already had potato skins and Gazza is diabetic. We’re not eating crap for the next week. Besides, we have an oven, a microwave, and a two-burner cooktop. You can do a lot with that.”
“You can do a lot with pizza,” I countered. “Look at the Italians.”
He chuckled. “Maybe for lunch one day.”
“If I’m a good boy?” I teased.
Mads looked me up and down in a way that made my dick perk up. “That’s a conversation for another day. Now go.” He shoved me one way, then walked off in the opposite direction.
“But I don’t know where anything is,” I protested, genuinely mystified.
Mads turned and shot me an exasperated look. “It’s a supermarket. Use your common sense. They’re all basically the same layout.”
“They are?” How was I supposed to know that? Davis had always done the supermarket shopping. Always. Then after the accident, I mostly ordered online for delivery. If I had to go in person, horror of horrors, then I went to the same place we’d always shopped, so I’d never had to think about it.
“Really, Nick?” Mads shook his head in disbelief. “Just follow the signs on the aisles. I’m sure you’ll manage.” He started to walk off, then turned back again. “And this is why you’re doing the laundry. I rest my case.” He turned tail and left me standing there.
“Just follow the signs on the aisles,” I whined childishly at his retreating back while making sure I kept my voice low enough that he couldn’t hear. Then I took a deep breath and followed the signs, just as he’d instructed.
He found me ten minutes later, staring at a million cereal boxes with no clue what to buy. “Whatever I choose, it’s bound to have too much sugar for your liking, or salt, or not enough fibre, or too much fibre, or it’ll be so healthy it’ll taste like the wood shavings from a lumberyard.”
Mads barked out a laugh. “I’m not that hard to please.”
I shot him a look and his cheeks pinked.
“Okay,” he relented. “You might have a point. How about we do a mix. One healthy cereal mixed with a sprinkling of sugar-coated garbage that’ll make your teeth fall out. If we add a decent low-sugar yoghurt and some fruit, it’ll pass.”
Oh, yum.I tried to keep the look of disgust off my face. “So, not pancakes then?” I tried, sounding slightly desperate. “Or how about hash browns? That’s a vegetable, right? And bacon because, well, bacon.”
Mads shook his head, but there was a smile on his lips as he pulled a packet of bacon from his basket. “Chicken, not pork, and grilled, not fried. We can get eggs on the way out.” He caught my eye. “Scrambledeggs.”
“If it’s not pork, then how is it bacon? There has to be a law against that. Misleading packaging and all that,” I grumbled, then took one look at his face and changed tack. “But still an excellent choice.” I kissed him soundly. “And exactly how hard was it to put that fake shit in your basket?”
Mads rolled his eyes. “You really don’t want to know. But then I remembered someone talking about balance, right?”
I grinned and slid an arm around his waist. “Yes indeedy. Balance. My middle name.”
Mads made a choking sound, which I decided not to investigate. “Come on. We’re done.” He strode toward the checkouts and I followed.
We’d just broken free of the cereal section when he came to an abrupt halt. “Shit.” He grabbed my arm and spun me left into the health and personal hygiene aisle.
I checked back the way we’d come but saw nothing. “Mads? What’s up?”
“Shh,” he hissed, pretending to browse the shelves while keeping an eye on the top of the aisle. “Act like you’re looking for something.”
I stared blankly at the shelves in front of us. “In the women’s sanitary products?”
He glanced back and blinked. “Shit. Never mind. Just don’t look. It’s him.”
So, of course, I looked, catching a glimpse of a twenty-something blond-haired man crossing the top of the aisle. He wore jeans, jandals, and a pink long-sleeved shirt. There was something about him that made my skin itch. No. It couldn’t be.
Mads elbowed me in the ribs. “I told you not to look.”
“Is that?—”
