Page 70 of Always Red (Chasing Red 2)

When she was done with her exams, I could take her to a swanky restaurant and pile gifts on her. Problem was, she didn’t like either of those things, I thought as I pulled on some jeans and headed to the kitchen.

I wasn’t sure what to do.

So much for my romantic side. I did a quick search on the internet on how to create a perfect date for your girlfriend. Correction, fiancée.

I grinned again.

According to the internet, the most-voted-for dream date for women was having a special dinner cooked for her (Click here for recipes that will blow her mind!) with the mood set by hanging fairy lights (What the hell are fairy lights?), arranging an elaborate table, and don’t forget to fold the napkins! It’s sooo important, and she will appreciate it! (Click here for instructions on how to fold a napkin!) Slow music, candles, and flowers will definitely make her swoon. It’s the thought that counts! Good luck and hope you get lucky tonight!

Right.

I took a glass from the cupboard, grabbed the orange juice from the fridge, poured, and drank deeply. I was definitely better at cooking. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all. But what if I screwed up? I should practice cooking the meal before our real date. I’d ask her out in two days.

I got dressed, hopped in my car, and dragged Cameron with me to the store. I wasn’t brave enough to go there by myself, and Cameron was done with his exams too.

“If you had a brain, you’d haul Levi here instead of me. You know I don’t cook worth a damn,” Cameron complained from behind me.

We were outside the Superstore, and I noted only five cars—including mine—in the parking lot. It was still too early for people to be shopping, and, like me, Cameron wasn’t a morning person.

Well, I wasn’t until Red.

I inserted a dollar coin in the slot and pulled out a cart. “I brought you here for moral support. Now shut the hell up and push the cart,” I said.

Cameron’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. “Why do I have to push the cart?”

“I’ll buy you beer.” The door opened automatically, and we stepped inside the store. “Why don’t you grab some?” I suggested.

“You know they don’t sell beer at Superstore, don’t you?” he said in a dry tone.

I scowled. “Why wouldn’t they?”

He just shook his head and walked ahead of me, pushing the cart expertly.

I pulled out my phone and opened the website where I’d bookmarked the recipe, scanning the ingredients I had to buy.

“Let’s get your stuff, Mary, and get the hell out of here. Don’t forget your apron while you’re at it,” Cameron drawled, pushing the cart to the meat section.

“At least I’ll look hot doing it.”

Last time I was here was with Red. The memory made me smile. She’d hated me back then—didn’t want to hang around me and seemed to enjoy biting my head off. We’d come a long way.

“So what are you making?” Cameron asked. He stood beside me at the counter, looking at big globs of packaged raw meat. I didn’t know it would be this complicated. They all looked different.

“Definitely lasagna. It’s her favorite.”

He snorted. “Sounds dangerous. Call me if you set your apartment on fire.”

“Oh ye of little faith!”

“Oh ye of little faith here knows the real score. Why don’t you just order something and say it’s your own?”

I scowled at him and then at the meat. Maybe I should just make pork chops. It’d be easier. I shook my head. I can do this. “It’s the thought that counts,” I told him, repeating what I’d read in the article.

He shrugged.

“What kind of meat should I get?” I asked, scratching my head.

“How the hell would I know? Grab that one. It’s calling your name.”

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