“They’re terribly impractical for this weather,” he says. “There’s no traction. I’m surprised you haven’t landed on your arse yet.”

“It may surprise you, but I have walked in a dusting of snow before.”

“But have you walked in a dusting of Mairead snow before?”

“Pretty sure snow is snow.”

“Right,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Snow is snow.”

He’s smiling down at me, which is infuriating. Because he’s only agreeing with me because he thinks I’m wrong, which I’m not.

Smug is not a good look on anyone. It especially doesn’t look good on him and his week old scruff and his wrinkled mustard shirt with hardly any buttons done up. It’s too early to see his sad excuse for chest hair.

“What brings you to our humble village?”

“Clearly not the hospitality,” I say.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended your Gucci shoes by being concerned for your wellbeing.”

“My Gucci shoes have not even given you a second thought.”

“I’m Callum.”

“That’s nice.”

We arrive at the automatic doors at the same time, and step into Tesco like some domesticated couple doing the weekly grocery shopping for their three kids and golden retriever. I’ve been in this country for less than twenty-four hours and I’m already making a bad impression. I hope the people of Mairead understand that I, Bree Danchev-Truong, would never date anyone with holes in their shoes and greasy hipster hair.

And while I’m trying to be a better person, a girl still has her standards.

The store isn’t Whole Foods crowded, but it’s fairly busy for a Sunday morning when most people should be sleeping. There’s only one carriage left. I didn’t intend on throwing elbows on a holy day, but I might have to.

“After you.” Callum chivalrously extends his arm out, motioning for me to go in front of him.

“If you insist.” It takes a special kind of restraint to resist rolling my eyes.

It takes even more restraint to resist running him over with my cart.

I get as far away from him as fast as possible.

Gran and I have completely different dietary requirements. And by dietary requirements, I mean she exclusively eats carbs. And while I’m trying to be less rigid with all the beauty standards that my mother drilled into my head, Rome wasn’t built in a day and I refuse to slop down porridge and beans on toast.

I will, however, eat an entire box of Jammie Dodgers. They were my poison of choice during my semester abroad. I’m pretty sure I ate a whole box whenever I had too much tequila.

And apparently, they’re also Callum’s poison of choice. Because he’s pulling the last package off the shelf when I turn down the aisle.