A voice on the overhead speakers announcing a sale on ground beef snaps me out of my overthinking.

“No texting,” I tell myself, pushing the cart. “No need to overcompensate. No reason to act like an overeager, lovesick boyfriend.”

Because I’m not, obviously. Lovesick. Or her boyfriend. Not really.

“Talking to ourselves in the middle of the grocery aisle, are we, James?”

I nearly crash into the canned goods when I whip around. “Beatrice?”

She curtsies slightly, her grocery basket thunking with its contents behind her back.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

“Well.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Probably the same thing as you. I unfortunately spent the day working after all, and now I’m buying what I need from the only grocery store within walking distance of my apartment.”

Right. Our places aren’t that far apart. This is most likely the store we’ve both always used. I just typically come early in the morning.

I don’t say any of that because my brain’s capacity is maxed out on her very distracting outfit. Bea fills the silence. “Maybe we’ve never crossed paths because we’re on opposite schedules,” she says. “I like a late-night run. It’s quieter.”

“It’s a ghost town at seven in the morning,” I finally manage. “I’m an early-bird shopper.”

“Of course you are. Early riser. Early shopper. You probably crush a marathon’s worth of miles, then pound a zero-carb smoothie before purchasing all-organic produce.”

“One look at the open cadaver of someone who suffered from poor nutrition and you’d eat clean, too.”

“Yuck,” she says. “I’ll pass. I prefer to live in ignorance.”

I can’t take my eyes off her leggings. They’re covered in platypuses—platypi?—with little text bubbles coming out of each one. The first one I see says, No nipples? No problem.

Beatrice realizes what I’m staring at. She glances down. “Yeah, wasn’t expecting to bump into someone I know. These are my repellent pants.”

“Repellent pants?”

“Tend to keep the creeps away.”

“Ah.” I can’t stop staring at them. “Platypi are mammals, aren’t they?” I point to the text bubble I read, near her hip. “How do they nurse, then?”

She beams, all white teeth and sparkling blue-gray-green eyes. The world swims a little. That smile’s a dangerous thing. “Instead of nipples, females nurse their babies through folds in their abdominal fur.”

“I see.” Bea said nipples, and I’m blushing like a schoolboy. I clear my throat, cheeks heating. When I tear my gaze away from the platypus leggings, I see she’s still holding her arms harshly behind her back, concealing her shopping basket. “Bea, why are you hiding your basket?”

Pink splashes on her cheeks. “Basket? What basket?”

“The one you’re holding behind your back.”

“Oh!” She shrugs. “Pfft. Nothing.”