Page 12 of Inked Heart
I grab a bag of brown sugar and drop it into my cart with a small sigh.My brain keeps replaying dinner from last night like an annoying little highlight reel.The way Emette criticized my hair, my clothes, my friends, even the tattoo shop.
I try to tell myself he didn’t mean it the way it sounded.That he was just having a bad day.That relationships require compromise.
But the truth is ...it still hurt.
I round the corner into the cereal aisle, trying to shake off the lingering irritation.Franklinton’s grocery store isn’t exactly massive, but it has everything you need if you’re willing to deal with slightly squeaky cart wheels and a freezer section that occasionally makes suspicious noises.
I toss a box of granola into my cart and start toward the dairy section.
Halfway there, I hear a familiar voice behind me.“Quinn?”
I turn and find Damien Grey standing at the end of the aisle holding a basket with exactly three items in it.Milk, eggs, and what looks suspiciously like a frozen pizza.
My lips curve into an automatic smile.“Hey.”
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, that quiet little gesture I’ve noticed he does when he’s slightly uncomfortable.“Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“It’s a grocery store,” I say.“People tend to show up here when they need food.”
His mouth twitches.“Fair point.”
I glance at his basket.“Is that your dinner?”
“Emergency dinner,” he says.
“What’s the emergency?”
“I’m running out of groceries,” he says with a shrug.
I laugh softly.Damien always has this dry sense of humor that sneaks up on you.It’s one of the things I like about him.
He shifts his weight slightly, looking a little unsure of what to do with his hands.
“So ...baking supplies?”he asks, nodding toward my cart.
“Cupcakes.”
“Again?”
“You say that like you’re complaining.”
“I’m not complaining,” he says quickly.“Just impressed.”
“Well, you guys keep eating them.”
“Occupational hazard of being friends with a baker.”
I grin and for a moment we stand there in comfortable silence.And it really is comfortable.Talking to Damien always feels easy.No pressure and no expectations.Just ...easy.
“So,” he says after a second.“How’ve you been?”
I open my mouth to answer and that’s when Emette’s voice cuts through the aisle like a knife.“There you are.”
The easy warmth of the moment disappears instantly, and I turn toward the sound of my boyfriend’s voice.Emette walks down the aisle with his usual confident stride, car keys spinning around his finger like he’s auditioning for a car commercial.
He stops beside my cart and glances at Damien.“Oh.”
The single word is flat.Dismissive.
