“Very well, actually, thanks so much for asking.” I throw another frozen pizza into the cart Darren is pushing just to spite him and because I haven’t tried this new flavor yet.

He looks worriedly at me. “You’re lucky Nadia’s not here.”

“Definitely would not say that.”

That makes him smile shyly. “Nadia is a firm believer in home-cooked meals.”

“As am I,” I say, leading him to the chip aisle. “I just don’t believe in cooking said home-cooked meals myself. I fully support the local restaurant industry, though.”

“We do,” he says huskily. “If Nadia was here, she’d invite you to our house for dinner tonight, and then she’d send you home with all the leftovers and probably half the food in our fridge.”

I turn to him. “Of course, she would. And what are y’all having tonight?” I slow down so I can walk beside him.

“I put a roast in the slow cooker before work this morning.”

“You?” I ask, my eyes darting left and right to make sure there’s no one else in this aisle. We’re on my side of town, and the chances of meeting someone Daren and Nadia knows out here are…well, they’re about as high as they would be anywhere else in the city. I think they want to pretend as if there are parts of town that are safer for us to be out together either in pairs — or maybe, one day, all three of us — but there aren’t. I don’t know if they realize that yet, but I do. I don’t care, but I look left and right because they care, and I care about them.

But there’s no one else in this aisle, and I smile.

And then I feel Darren’s mouth against mine again. We smile and kiss quickly. It feels illicit, even though it isn’t, and sometimes, the feel of a thing is enough.

“So, if Nadia was here, she’d invite me to dinner? But you wouldn’t?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

I elbow him, and he laughs. One of his hands leaves the shopping cart and reaches for me, but he stops himself.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, grabbing the hand and squeezing it before putting it back on the cart.

“Yeah, I know. I know,” he says. But I don’t quite think he does.

“Tortilla chips.”

“What?”

“I also live on tortilla chips and fancy salsa,” I tell him.

“Jesus.”

I laugh at his pained, amused groan.

normal shit

“Are you sure you don’t have anywhere else to go?” he asks.

“Nah, that’s it.”

“Because I have time,” he says, checking the watch on his wrist. “The boys won’t be home for an hour and a half. I can take you somewhere else if you have more errands.”

“Those are all my errands, Darren. Pull in here.”