Page 22 of Our Long Days
The little smirk she gives me is better than nothing. “Stocking up on groceries?”
“Hot date.” I raise my full hands.
Her flicker of happiness dissolves when she spots the chocolates and flowers. I realize how it looks and sounds. I shouldn’t care about her reaction to my dating life. It’s never been a delicate topic before.
I step forward. “It was a joke. The date is with your brother. And Jo. Lottie, obviously. Can’t decide which to buy.”
Her shoulders loosen, and I certainly shouldn’t enjoy that. “I’d go with the chocolates. Jo might not appreciate the smell of lilies right now. Too potent.”
I tilt my head in question. There’s something she isn’t telling me.
She laughs. “Trust me.”
“If you say so.” I quirk a brow at the stance. Her hands remain hidden behind her back. “Are you going to buy those, or do I need to call security?”
A nervous giggle escapes her. She waves the chocolate bars between us. “Busted.”
“Why don’t you get them both?” I shrug. “No harm in treating yourself.”
Her cheeks blaze crimson, and I immediately want to suck the words back. I’ve basically admitted to spying on her like a creep. So much for this encounter being an improvement from the last.
She lowers her gaze to her hands. “I’m trying to be more responsible with my money. It’s silly, I guess, it’s only a couple of dollars, but…”
“Not silly,” I rush out.
Her eyes dart back up, looking at me through her thick lashes wishfully. She swallows. “Which would you choose?”
The air settles again, removed of all hesitancy. It would be in the middle of the local store, with any nosy local around to witness this strange yet familiar interaction. “I’m not a lover of nuts. Go with the Twix.”
The smile she gifts me is a sucker punch to the chest. “Okay.”
We walk to the cash register together, and she checks-out first then waits for me. Thankfully, she’s too distracted by the row of magazines to notice my items.
As I’m tapping my card on the machine, a soft gasp sounds to my right. Florence holds today’s newspaper, gaze darting from the black-and-white print to me.
“It’s your birthday!” she practically shrieks.
The store clerk and I wince.
Florence claps a hand over her mouth.
Suddenly, she’s tugging me through the door and outside.
“Dexter! It’s your birthday!” she announces again, her expression horrified.
Passersby pause their steps at her outburst before continuing toward the bay. Tourist season is around the corner, and the streets are slowly getting busier.
“I’m aware.” I chuckle. “It’s not a big deal. Never celebrated them much anyway.”
She ignores me. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
Something pokes me in the stomach. I glance down to find a shiny wrapper jabbing me.
I shove her hand away. “No. That’s yours.”
She shakes her head. Stubborn thing.
“Florence. I’m not accepting it.”
