Every Wrong Reason(20)

“You like peanut butter,” I offered.

“But what kind?” He stared at the shelves. His lips pressed into a frown and I watched his eyes move over the different kinds and sizes of jars with determined concentration.

It was my turn to smile. “You don’t know what brand of peanut butter you like?”

He rubbed his hand along the side of his jaw, his dark scruff scratching his palm. “I know what I like, but that one’s cheaper.” He pointed to the store brand and my smile stayed in place. “Does it taste the same?”

When his eyebrows drew down and he looked at me with the helpless expression of a lost little boy I couldn’t help but laugh. I shook my head slowly and said, “No, it doesn’t. Don’t be cheap with peanut butter.”

“But the kind I like is three dollars more.”

“And so worth it.”

His forehead smoothed out and his lips twitched again. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay, what about jelly?” He put his favorite brand of peanut butter in the cart and moved down a shelf.

“That you can be less picky about. I usually go for the one that’s on sale and has a flavor I like.”

His low chuckle followed him as he grabbed a jar of raspberry preserves. “Are we too old to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”

“Don’t say that. We both know it’s the breakfast of champions.”

“So the cashier isn’t going to judge me?”

“Just mention the kids you have waiting for you at home.”

The jar fell out of his hands and crashed into the cart. He ignored the jelly and spun toward me. “You don’t do that.”

“Captain Crunch and corndogs are your favorites. Of course, I do that!”

His deep laughter warmed the air between us and I found myself smiling too. “You’re an evil genius, Katherine Claire.”

I ignored the way his teasing burned through me or the nostalgia that tickled my belly when he used my full name. I pushed my cart forward and led us to another aisle.

“Is it your students?” His deep voice chased after me.

I avoided running into another shopper when I turned the corner and processed his words. “My rough week?”

“Yeah, your rough week. Is it your kids this year? Or new management? What’s going on at Hamilton?”

“Mostly the kids,” I explained over my shoulder. “We’re still establishing the pecking order. They’re not ready to admit I’m in charge yet.”

“Because high school kids are *s,” he added in my defense.

My lips turned up in another smile. “That they are.” I rubbed my chin on my shoulder as I looked at him. “The beginning of the year is always the hardest.”

He met my eyes with a steady gaze. “I remember.”

My heart thumped painfully in my chest and I took a deep breath before I could tear my attention from him. “Pasta.”

“What?” His voice was rougher than it had been a few seconds ago.

“You like pasta. And it’s easy to make.” I pointed at his favorite kind of noodles and sauce before adding some to my own cart. “Basically all you need to be able to do is boil water.”

He reached for some noodles. “I think I can handle spaghetti. If I have to eat another cheeseburger this week, I might murder Jared.”

I laughed. “Your brother doesn’t cook?”

Nick threw me an annoyed look. “Jared eats McDonalds. For every meal.”

I wrinkled my nose. I thought Nick and I had eaten badly, but that was above and beyond a bowl of ice cream every night. “He’s going to die of a heart attack. He’s twenty-six! He can’t live like that forever.”

Nick nodded, “I tell him that every day.”

I smiled thinking of Nick’s younger brother and how immature he could be. “He needs a woman to settle him down.”

My smile died when Nick flinched. I realized my mistake, but I didn’t know how to take it back. I just wanted to swallow every stupid word and run away.

Or throw a jar of marinara sauce on the ground to distract him.

I turned toward the shelves again and stared blindly at the sauces. I picked one up and tried to read the label, but I couldn’t see anything beyond the tears swimming in my eyes.

Finally, Nick spoke and I wished more than anything I had just ordered Chinese. “A woman might save him from a heart attack, but she’ll kill him in every other way.” His voice dipped low and I felt the cruel bitterness in my bones.

It was a miracle I didn’t throw the jar of sauce after all-only this time it would have been aimed at his head. I was too angry to look at him, too hurt to breathe. I felt suffocated by his presence, his bitter attitude, his razor sharp tongue. I wanted to abandon my cart and flee, but I couldn’t convince my feet to move.

It was so silly. He hadn’t said anything shocking. It wasn’t like I’d never heard this before.

I was the dream-killer. I was the cold-hearted shrew blinded by rational thought and practicality. I was the reason Nick couldn’t make it.

I was the reason Nick had to give up his dream.

And here we were again. Even though we were separated. Even though Nick was welcome to do whatever he wanted with his life. Even though I couldn’t tell him what to do anymore.