Page 53 of Spicy Ever After
I nod. “Me or Griffin.” I scoff. “My dad wasn’t about to do it.”
She winces. “I’ve never done the shopping. I don’t really like shopping. Except at Michael’s or AllBrands.”
“Who likes shopping?”
Hattie’s brows leap. “You don’t like to shop?”
“As far as chores go, it’s better than cleaning toilets, but I wouldn’t do it for fun.” I shrug.
She blows out a sigh. “That’s… a relief.”
“It is?”
She nods.
“Why?”
No hesitation. “Because it means not all neurotypical people like grocery shopping—even if all the ones in my family do.” Her smile this time is crooked. “Even my dad. But only if he’s grilling.”
Then her smile slips and she drops her focus. “And…”
Our Adirondack chairs are side by side, but I lean a little closer. “And what?”
Hattie rocks side-to-side. Side-to-side. “I don’t think I could.”
“Enjoy shopping?” It hits me that the rocking is a way of self-soothing and this topic puts her on edge. So I add, “A lot of people don’t like shopping.”
“But they can still do it.” Hattie shakes her head, still rocking. “I don’t think I could do what my mom does and go to the grocery store with a list for the whole week. Every week. It takes her like an hour. It would take me nine. I’d give up and just have to live at the grocery store. Maybe hollow out a little borrow in the bread aisle.”
When I laugh, she blinks up at me, surprised. “That’s funny?”
“I mean…yeah.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “Funny funny or funny weird?”
I don’t hesitate. “Funny wonderful.”
She frowns. “That wasn’t one of the options.”
I shrug. “Too bad. It’s the truth.”
Hattie stops mid-rock, staring at me. Then she smiles huge, brilliant and beautiful.
When she plucks a beignet from the tray parked between us, powdered sugar drifts onto her dress, dusting her breasts and thighs in a sweet snowfall. When she takes a bite and then moans, I feel lightheaded.
I grab a beignet too because biting it camouflages my moan.
It’s only when I shut my own eyes and let the doughy sweetness penetrate my senses that I hum over the pastry.
It’s good. Maybe not as good as Café du Monde’s, but a respectable second, and that’s saying something.
But I forget all about beignet comparisons when I open my eyes to find Hattie watching me. Really watching me.
“Do I have powdered sugar on my face?” I ask.
She nods, unblinking.
I lick my lips and watch as her eyes blaze. It’s the second time I’ve caught her staring at my mouth. My smile goes nuclear. Because she’s attracted to me. I love that she doesn’t try to hide it.
