Changing Tides, page 9
“I was too busy trying to decide between the seashells or the lace pattern,” Andi said, waving a hand toward the invitations.
Rachel offered a smile, despite the fact her stomach squeezed at the revelation her soup was gone. “It’s fine.”
“We’ll order you something.”
Rachel brushed Andi off. Though she really wanted that soup, providing Ford a meal was the least she could do, seeing as how she’d been eating their food all week.
“No, really. I haven’t contributed a thing yet. A quart of soup was the least I could do. It’s about time I go buy some groceries.”
“Rach—” Andi protested.
“Really,” she said, “it’s fine.”
Rachel grabbed her coat off the hook next to the door, along with her purse and the keys to Andi’s car, trying to ignore the sound of Andi and Ford bickering in the background.
“I can’t believe you ate her food,” she hissed.
“Sorry—”
“Hey, Andi . . .” Rachel turned back around, no longer wanting to hear them argue over how Ford consumed her one and only meal.
“Yeah?”
“I figured out who Joe is, why he’s so familiar.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh, yeah? And?”
Rachel bit her lip. “And . . .”
And what? She felt sorry for the boy in her memories. Despite her popularity, Rachel had been kind to everyone in high school. She wasn’t one to gossip or look down on others for being different. Rather, she was too preoccupied with her own life, her own world. Yet somehow, this memory of Joe left her feeling conflicted in a way she couldn’t quite understand, let alone explain.
“. . . and I think maybe he’s really nice,” she said, then she opened the door and headed outside.
Rachel stared at the different kinds of lettuce in the produce aisle, feeling lost. Who knew there were so many varieties?
She glanced around her, squinting under the bright fluorescent lights. People milled around her in the store, taking items off the shelves, picking out fruit and vegetables, placing them in plastic bags, then into their carts, and went about their way.
Rachel found herself slightly envious of their decisiveness. Truth be told, she rarely went grocery shopping. Sure, she’d stopped inside Fresh Market a time or two to buy something to drink from the cold cases by the registers, but never before had she actually gone shopping for her own food. That was Marge’s job. She had kept her kitchen stocked and full of all the things Rachel loved, like her favorite green juice, smoked cheeses, and gourmet salads, without her having to ask.
Thirty-seven years and she’d never done any real grocery shopping.
Rachel wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of it.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled and pictured the giant bowls of quinoa Greek salad Marge put together for her in the fridge. Or the tossed salad with the really sweet grape tomatoes. The lettuce was crunchy, a combination of green and purple.
She reached toward a bundle of sturdy green lettuce, then hesitated.
“Tough decision. Do you want greens or more greens?”
Joe’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. She opened her eyes and glanced over at him, half expecting the young man with the red cap from her memories.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Joe shoved his hands in his pockets and released a quiet laugh.
“No, no. It’s fine. I just . . . ” Rachel glanced back at the lettuce and motioned toward it. “Why are there so many kinds? How do you know what to get? Who knew there were so many choices for something as simple as lettuce?”
If she was having this big a problem in the vegetable section, she didn’t even want to move on to things like meat, bread, or fruit.
Feeling slightly dejected, she frowned at the leafy greens, and Joe laughed beside her, a soft rumble that shimmied down her spine.
She liked his laugh.
“Let me see if I can help. You’ve got the classic iceberg,” he said, plucking a round, whitish-green head of lettuce off the shelf. “It’s crunchy, watery, and slightly flavorless. Or you have this stuff.” He lifted a container of thin curly, dark green leaves. “Which may as well be grass. It tastes like you might imagine the color green would taste.”
Rachel grimaced. Then again, she did like her green shakes.
“Or you have romaine hearts.” Pointing to a package of three oblong heads, he said, “They’re kind of classic, typically found in Caesar salad. You can’t go wrong with romaine. Well, unless there’s a listeria scare. But no worries. Here you have the purple stuff, which is surprisingly good. It doesn’t taste purple at all.”
Rachel grinned. “Which is your favorite?”
It was absurd how badly she wanted to know. Then again, every time she was around him, she had the inexplicable desire to know more.
“None of it,” he said deadpan. “It’ll all kill you. Just stick to lobster.”
Rachel laughed. “Not a salad fan?”
“No.”
“Well, thank you for your expertise. I think you’ve helped me make up my mind.” Reaching out, she took a package of romaine and a bundle of red lettuce off the shelf and put them in her cart.
“No problem. Looks like you’ve chosen wisely.”
She turned toward the tomatoes and picked up a container of grape tomatoes, noting that he hung around, and trying not to get too excited about the prospect he was as intrigued by her as she was by him.
Glancing behind her at the display of apples, she arched her brows. “Do you know anything about apples?”
Joe’s dimples winked. “I eat apples. That’s about the extent of my knowledge, but come on, we’ll figure it out.” He motioned for her to follow as he made his way in front of the display which held what seemed to be a dozen variety of apples.
Ten minutes later, he had Rachel in stitches. She’d laughed so much her chest ached.
“You know surprisingly little about food for a woman.” The moment the words left his mouth, he closed his eyes and lifted a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “And that sounded super sexist. Sorry. I know not every woman cooks or . . .” He trailed off, his cheeks turning pink.
“You’re fine. You’re right, actually. I don’t cook, unless you count reheating things in the microwave as cooking or pouring a bowl of cereal. And, believe it or not,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, “this is the first time I’ve gone grocery shopping.”
Joe frowned. “This week . . .?”
Rachel shook her head.
“This month?”
“No. Ever.”
Joe gaped. “Wait a minute. This is your first time grocery shopping, ever? In your entire life? How is that possible?”
Rachel sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, shifting her cart to the side to allow a family to get through the aisle. “I had a . . . cook before. She used to prepare all my meals.”
Cook was an understatement. Marge was everything to her. She did everything from washing Rachel’s laundry to buying her food and scrubbing her toilets. Rachel was lost without her, and she’d only begun to feel the aftereffects of being taken care of your entire life, then suddenly having to do everything on your own.
“You had a personal chef?” A boy appeared by Joe’s side, staring pointedly up at Rachel. “That’s cool.”
Rachel stared down at the boy. Though she had a couple of inches on him, he wasn’t much shorter than her.
She opened her mouth to respond, unsure of what to say, when the boy turned to Joe and said, “Sorry, there was a line for the bathroom.” Then his gaze darted toward the checkouts. “Hey, can I get a soda?”
Rachel glanced between them, noting the resemblance with a sinking in the pit of her stomach. Though the boy’s hair was slightly lighter, he had the same blue-gray eyes, straight nose, and olive-toned skin.
Rachel’s gaze flickered to the ring finger of Joe’s left hand. “Is this your . . . ?”
She’d assumed he was single, but maybe she’d been wrong. Not that he needed to be married to have a son, but if there was even a chance he had some sort of entanglement with the boy’s mother, she’d rather know now. She had enough complications in her life at the moment.
She waited a beat, hoping like crazy he wasn’t married or in a relationship, when he finally replied, “Uh, this is my nephew, Brady. Brady, this is Miss Beaumont.”
“Hi, ma’am,” Brady said with a nod of his head, but his eyes kept wandering toward the case of cold drinks.
“Hi.” Rachel’s smile was automatic at both the news Joe didn’t have a baby-mama somewhere vying for his attention, and at the boys respectful greeting.
Brady turned back to her. “So, did you really have a personal chef?” He cocked his head, eyeing her for a lie.
“I did.”
“That must be nice. Uncle Joe’s a good cook, but my mother—” Brady mimed gagging, then grinned when Joe shot him a dirty look.
“Brady, don’t be rude.”
Rachel laughed. Apparently, Brady hadn’t inherited Joe’s quiet disposition.
“It’s okay.” She met Joe’s eye before glancing back to Brady. “It was pretty cool. She made me anything I wanted.”
“Anything?”
“Anything. And I always had tons of food in my fridge, and I never had to go shopping.”
“Whoa. I hate going grocery shopping.” Then he shot Joe an apologetic look. “But Uncle Joe does buy me stuff like sodas and candy and stuff. I guess that’s all right.”
“Sounds like a good uncle.”
Brady shrugged. “So, what happened to your chef?”
Rachel sighed, thinking wistfully of Marge. It hadn’t been very long, but already, she missed her. Not just her cooking or the way she took care of everything, but her companionship.
“Well, as it turns out, having a personal chef is expensive."
Brady chuffed out a laugh. “No doubt.” Then he nodded toward the drinks again and peered up at Joe. “So? Can I get one?”
Joe laughed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah.”
When Brady cheered and headed for the case, Joe turned back to her. “I guess I better go,” he said, hooking a thumb toward where his nephew was meticulously eyeing the selection of bottled soft drinks and started walking backward.
Rachel nodded, hating their conversation had to end. “That’s too bad. I was headed to the deli next.”
Joe flashed her his crooked smile as he pointed. “Remember, just avoid the chicken salad and you’ll be fine.”
Rachel bit her lip as she watched him spin around, then rumple Brady’s hair with his hand, laughing when he protested, and her heart squeezed.
What was it about him that got to her?
Whatever it was, she had plenty of time to contemplate it over the next thirty minutes as she wandered around the grocery store, her step a little lighter, her mood a little brighter with her thoughts on those stormy eyes and dimples.
She headed to the cheese section with fresh determination. Just because she didn’t have Marge around didn’t mean she couldn’t recreate all the things she prepared for her.
In the cold case, she recognized the label on the wheel of brie she always prepared with blackberry conserve, which gave her the idea to put together a charcuterie board for Andi and Ford as a thank you for all their help. She’d even buy a bottle of wine to go with it. Maybe it wouldn’t be an expensive bottle, but it’d do.
She loaded her cart with crackers, hard salami, Kalamata olives, and ones marinated in oil, stuffed with cheese. Roasted red peppers went into the cart, along with a bottle of cabernet. Next, she purchased some coffee and breakfast items and deli meat to replace some of the things she’d eaten over the past week.
By the time she headed to the checkout, she’d found many of the things she loved and felt slightly less guilt staying at Andi’s place and eating her food.
She smiled at the cashier as she began to ring up her things. Once she had everything bagged and back in her cart, she waited for her total, feeling more adult than she had in maybe her entire life.
“That’s $167.49,” the cashier said, her tone polite but bored.
A choking noise emanated from the back of Rachel’s throat. Her eyes shifted from her cart back to the cashier. “What? Are you sure that’s right? I barely got anything.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the cashier said, looking more alive than she had moments before.
Rachels’ cheeks burned with embarrassment as she pulled out her debit card with shaking hands.
The gas from the other day, combined with these groceries, was almost $200 alone. That was nearly a third of the cash left in her account.
But there was no way she could put any of this stuff back. It would be beyond mortifying.
Her stomach rolled as she reached out the hand holding her card, but before the cashier could take it, a wad of cash appeared beside her.
“I’ve got this,” the voice said, and if it was possible, Rachel’s cheeks turned five shades darker.
She felt Carter’s burning gaze on the side of her face but ignored him and shoved her card at the cashier. “No, it’s mine, I’m paying for it,” she insisted.
In her periphery, she could see Carter open his wallet and pull out another bill, then offer it to the girl. “I’m paying,” he said, and much to Rachel’s dismay, the girl took his cash, pocketed the extra bill, and returned Rachel’s card.
Placing it back in her wallet, Rachel whipped around to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What? I’m just trying to help you out.”
Just trying to buy her was more like it.
When Rachel turned back to the cashier, she took her receipt and said thank you, then started for the exit.
“Wait. That’s it? You’re just going to leave?” Carter called out behind her.
When she said nothing and kept walking, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. “Come on, Rach. Don’t be mad.”
Rachel spun around, hands fisted by her side. “Don’t be mad? Do you realize how embarrassing that was? I can take care of myself.”
Carter narrowed his eyes. “Can you though?”
Rachel huffed out a breath and shook her head, then made to turn back around as she muttered, “Unbelievable.”
“Wait. I’m sorry.” Carter’s hand came over the one clenching the handle of her cart so hard her knuckles turned white. “Will you please just stop and listen to me?”
Rachel ground her molars but stayed in place.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I was just trying to do something nice, I swear.”
She peeked up at him from the corner of her eye. Part of her was relieved at not having to pay her grocery bill, which made her resent him even more.
“I don’t know what’s going on with your family, but I want to help.”
Rachel sighed and her shoulders sagged, feeling suddenly tired. “It is what it is. I don’t need your help, and my parents are moving out of Bayshore anyway.”
She noted the surprise register in his eyes—he hadn’t known about them selling the house—before he recovered. “I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Rachel. If you’d just give me a chance.”
“I gave you a chance once.”
“To be fair, we first started dating in high school. I was young and stupid.”
“To be fair, I don’t do second chances, and from where I’m standing, it seems like not much has changed,” she shot back. “You’re still entitled and as cocky as ever.”
His blue eyes flashed. “How can you even say that?”
“You still think you can buy your way through everything, including me.”
“I don’t—” He snapped his mouth shut, then raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I do act like that sometimes. But for the record, I don’t think I can buy you, but I do want you, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to win you back. I don’t think it’s wrong to want to give you the kind of life you’re accustomed to, the one you deserve.”
Rachel snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Look,” he continued, “you know how our friends are. Have you heard from any of them since the rumors about your family started?”
She met his eye. “No,” she said begrudgingly.
“Right. And they’ll keep shunning you. The people in our social circle treat financial crisis like a disease. If they get too close, they might catch it.”
That was being kind, Rachel mused. Most of them were just too pretentious to be associated with anyone not in the Fortune 500 club.
“But I’m different. I don’t care.”
“Oh, how kind of you.”
His mouth pressed into a tight line. “You know what I mean. I’m not the bad guy you’re making me out to be.”
With his bright blue eyes steady on hers, Rachel thought maybe he had a point. It had been a long time ago they’d been together, and they were practically kids. And though Carter had his faults and could be a little over the top, he did seem as though he was trying to change. And if his paying her grocery bill was his way of extending an olive branch, maybe she should take it.
But then she remembered Joe and how he’d been rude to him at the O.
“I don’t think you’re a bad guy,” Rachel said. Carter’s expression brightened. Then she added, “But it doesn’t mean we’re going to be together.”
“I’ll change your mind.”
“Don’t even try.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she raised her hand to stop him. “I’m just trying to figure out my life right now. I’m taking it one day at a time. The last thing I need is to complicate things with a relationship.”
“Fair enough.”
He still didn’t get it, she mused.
“I’ll see you around.”
She turned toward her cart just as he said, “I’m glad you got your job back.”
Frowning, she glanced behind her. “How did . . .”
“I’ll change your mind about me. You’ll see.” He pointed at her. “I’m a patient man, Rachel Beaumont.”
“Carter—”
“I can play the long game.” And with that, he passed by her before she could protest any further, brushing a hand over her arm as he went.
