Page 89 of One Wrong Move

At the local supermarket, people stare at us, too. A little girl comments about us walking around in towels and is quickly hushed by her parents. We find rice, and then Harper stumbles on a small clothing section. I pick up a pair of striped pajama pants, sold in a cardboard box. “Did you know stores sell both food and clothes?”

Harper chuckles from where she’s digging through a bin of T-shirts. “Yes, I did. Big stores like this usually do.”

“Huh.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t know that,” she says. Her voice is teasing again, and she tugs on the towel to keep it in place. “How often do you grocery shop?”

“Never.”

“Mm-hmm, not surprised.” She fishes out a small package with a grin. “Awesome. This fleece sweater is even on sale.”

“Planning on wearing it to the gallery?”

“Yes, I think it’ll look great paired with heels.” She looks over at the pajama pants in my hands. “Is that what you’re getting?”

“There are no normal pants.”

“There aren’t?”

“No.” I grab a pack of dry underwear and a gray T-shirt. “Come on, let’s get out of here. You must be cold by now.”

She shrugs a little and doesn’t look too bothered. There’s a bright glow in her eyes. “Looking forward to seeing you drive a sports car in tartan-print pajama pants.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’ve both changed in the small restroom by the entrance. Our cell phones are shut off and buried deep inside the bag of rice in hopes of pulling out the moisture. Damned fucking inconvenient, considering our phones were also our maps. This little diversion certainly made the time pass, and although it’s still bright outside, my watch reads almost seven, and May daylight won’t last forever. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive back to London.

Harper chews on a granola bar she bought at the store. She looks… Well, it’s hard to look away. She’s sitting on one of the metal chairs by the entrance, her hair damp and wild around her face, drowning in a too-large sweatshirt and munching on a chocolaty snack.

She looks adorable.

“Sure you don’t want one?” She reaches into the package for another bar.

“I’m sure,” I say. “We can stop somewhere on the way home and eat. It’s a long drive.”

“Does your car have GPS?”

“It’s a vintage Aston Martin,” I say dryly.

She raises an eyebrow. “I have no clue if that means a yes or no.”

“It means no. But the roadsigns should be pretty self-explanatory. All roads lead to Rome, and all that.”

She stands, and we head out to the parking lot. It’s sheer impulse that has me wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Not how you expected the day trip to go, huh?”

Harper shrugs. The movement sends shivers up my arm. “No. But… this was infinitely more memorable.”

“Too bad we didn’t get a picture of the moment the boat tipped. Would your mom have liked that?”

She laughs. “Probably! I would have, that’s for sure. Honestly, a water snake? In an idyllic pond? That’s just rude.”

“We probably bothered it.”

“You might be right about that. But I still feel like it was unnecessary to come so close to the boat.” She shivers again. “I can’t believe I touched it.”

“Lucky it didn’t bite,” I say.

She pushes me away with a laugh. “Don’t even bring that up, or I won’t be able to sleep.”

We get in the car and hit the road, and Harper plays around with the radio dial. There’s a bag of chips on her lap, and she hands me a few every now and then. It’s surprisingly…

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