“Stop making fun of me,” she said with a laugh. “Remember when you predicted I would fall in love with football by the time we’re done? That’s the same way I’ll have you feeling about vegetables.”

“If you can pull off that miracle, I will—” Jamar started, but then he stopped when he caught sight of a figure just to his right. A second later he heard, “Excuse me? Diesel Dixon?”

He turned. A lanky guy with shaggy blond hair held a Texas Longhorns baseball cap and a black Sharpie out to him. “Do you mind signing my cap? I want to give it to my dad. He’s been a fan since that seventy-yard TD you ran against Kansas State your freshman year.”

Jamar dialed up his obligatory smile for fans. “Tell your dad I appreciate the years of support,” he said as he scribbled his signature on the ball cap’s stiff bill.

“Thanks a lot, man. He’s going to love this.” The guy walked away, clutching the cap as if it were a brick of solid gold.

When he turned back to Taylor, she was still staring in the direction of the retreating fan. She finally looked at him, hooking her thumb toward the guy. “Be honest, it’s hella awkward when stuff like that happens.”

Jamar scratched the back of his head. “It was cool the first thousand times it happened to me, but after five years of it? Yeah, it’s kinda awkward. Especially in grocery stores, which is why I avoid them.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Come on, let’s see if you can get through your assignment before another of your adoring fans interrupts us.”

Jamar pulled up short. “My assignment?”

“Okay, Twenty-Three, I know we’ve only been working together for a few days, but you should know by now that there are no easy days. Ever. You’ve got to put in some work.” She held out the green shopping basket she’d been carrying on her arm. “Your assignment is to pick out five types of vegetables that would be acceptable additions to your diet.”

He grudgingly grabbed the handbasket. “Am I being graded on this?”

“Absolutely.”

“If only I’d known what I was signing up for,” Jamar mumbled as he ventured over to the potato bins. “So what started this obsessive love affair you have with produce?”

“I am not obsessed.”

His brow arched. “You didn’t see the way your eyes lit up when you looked at those tomatoes.”

Her modest grin was reluctant, but Jamar still counted it as a win.

“Well, what do you expect to happen when I walk into a store and see all these heirloom tomatoes?” One corner of her mouth twisted upward. “Okay, fine,” she said, her cheeks flushing a faint crimson with her admission. “I may be a little obsessed. It probably started back when I lived in Germany.”