“Do you want these?” he asks when he catches my glare.

“No.” Yes.

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” I grab the first package of cookies I see. Gluten free ginger biscuits. Disgusting.

I pull a swift U-turn and barrel my way towards the refrigerated section. I grab a quart of oat milk, and then I get a little reckless and pick up some sweetened vanilla yogurt. Living life on the edge.

And because I’m a courteous guest, I grab a banoffee pie from the frozen food section. I like Holly. I don’t want to kill her family with something homemade.

I’m bagging the last three apples in the bin when I see Callum again. It’s an unfortunate reoccurrence. I hope he doesn’t make a habit of stalking me. I’d hate to file a police report on my first full day in a new country.

“I need those,” he tells me.

I look down at the apples and frown. “They’re mine.”

“I’ll trade you the Jammie Dodgers,” he says.

I place the apples into my cart and then grab a carton of blackberries. “No.”

First he insults my shoes. Then he stalks me. And now he wants to barter with me for my apples? I don’t think so.

“Okay,” he says and glances into his basket. “I’ll give you the Jammie Dodgers, my spaghetti hoops, and ten quid.”

I frown again.

At this rate I’m going to need Botox in a week.

“Keep your money and get a haircut,” I say.

“So is that a yes to the Jammie Dodgers and spaghetti hoops?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I don’t eat fresh pasta, and you think you can woo me with something in a can?”

“They’re for a dessert.”

“The Spaghetti-Os?”

“No, the apples,” he sighs. “I’m begging you.”

“I know you are,” I say. “But the answer is still no. The pears look nice. Maybe try those.”

I smile before moving away from him. Before I go to the register, I grab a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream because Callum has tested my willpower and my patience.

Which might be a new record. I’ve only know him for twenty minutes.

“Good morning,” the woman working the register says. “Did you find everything you—oh! Good morning, Cal!”

I glance over my shoulder and see Callum emptying his basket onto the belt.

“Hello, Elaine.” He smiles. “Has Rory gone back to Manchester already?”

“Yes, he left yesterday,” she says. “I forgot how much I missed silence.”

Me, well, I miss my delivery guy in New York who bruised all my produce. I’d rather have a banged up peach than suffer through all this mindless chatter.

“I don’t believe I know you,” Elaine says to me.

“I’m just visiting,” I say, shoving my credit card into the chip reader.

“What brings you here?”