Page 17 of Love Story

We walked together to the next aisle, and it took some searching.Ben crouched down to peer at the lower shelves, and I found myself glancing at his list while pretending to scan for the coriander seeds.

I still had my own random item to find—frosting bags.Mom had insisted they were“absolutely necessary”for some baking project she was helping with for the school fundraiser.“You can’t use just any old Ziploc bag,” she’d said.

“Found it,” Ben muttered, standing up and holding a small jar of coriander seeds between his fingers.“This must be the smallest thing I’ve ever bought.Feels like a scam.”

I smirked, holding up the pack of frosting bags I’d just grabbed.“I’ll trade you for these.Also overpriced and ridiculous.”

He smiled faintly, slipping the seeds into his basket.“What’s next on your list?”

“Vanilla extract,” I said.“You?”

Ben checked his paper.“Some yeast.Active dry yeast, I think?”

“Same aisle,” I said, leading the way.

We found the vanilla extract easily, but the yeast, tucked away on a bottom shelf near the flour, was trickier.Ben bent down to grab it, his fingers brushing the packet, and I couldn’t help but notice the tension in his movements, as if even this simple task felt heavier than it should.He probably ached from the accident, but I stopped myself from asking.

“Big plans for all this baking?”I asked, trying for small talk.

“This isn’t for me,” he said, straightening.“Harriet mentioned a recipe and said this was all super-important.”He nodded but didn’t say more, his focus shifting to his list.

I tried again, changing the subject.“So, Boston.You follow any of the sports teams?”

He shook his head, glancing at me with a wry smile.“I never had time to watch sports.My company had a box at Fenway, but I never went.”The humor slipped from his face.“I um…” His voice faltered, and he shut down, the walls going up so fast it made my head spin.He barely looked at me before turning toward the tills.“I should be going.”

I stood there for a moment, my hand tightening around the handle of my basket.“Right,” I said, but he was already walking away.

I followed, making a big show of examining the back of a packet of frosting bags while he checked out and left.Only when the door swung shut behind him did I let myself relax.

That was such an insane one-eighty I had no idea what to think.

“Joker!”A big hand slapped my back hard enough to make me stagger forward into a precariously stacked display of canned soup.I caught myself just in time, steadying the nearest tower before it toppled.

“Jesus, Ryan,” I muttered, turning to glare at him.“You trying to break my spine?”

Ryan grinned unapologetically, the usual layer of sawdust clinging to his flannel shirt.“Not my fault you’re built like a twig.”He held up a bag of dill pickle chips like they were trophies.“Supply run.”

“Exciting stuff,” I deadpanned, glancing at the cash desk.“I thought you bought in bulk.”

“Normally do,” he said with a shrug.“But I ran out mid-project, and you know how it is.Can’t finish shit without some dill pickle chips.”

We fell into easy conversation as we moved toward the registers, shooting the breeze.By the time we stepped out into the parking lot, the lunchtime sun was peeking through the clouds, and it felt as though the warmth was trying to beat back the frosty air.Not that it was working yet.

Ryan stopped near his truck, tossing his bag inside before leaning against the door with a sigh.“I’m worried about Haider,” he said abruptly, his tone quieter than usual.

I raised an eyebrow, dropping my basket into the bed of my truck.“Why?Is it one of the guys he’s hired?Issues with Crocus?”

Haider had a big heart and an even bigger streak of stubborn optimism, so he gave jobs to ex-cons at his shop.I admired him for it—hell, I’d done the same during harvest when I could—but I knew the risks too.Crocus was his main man.As far as I’d seen, he was rough around the edges but reliable enough.A good guy.

Ryan shook his head.“No, not Crocus.It’s…” He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck.“Haider mentioned something about money.He said he was worried.I mean, he wasn’t saying it to me—he was doing that thing where he talks to himself, you know?Getting all up in his head and mumbling.”

I frowned.“Yeah, that sounds like Haider.You think it’s serious?”

Ryan shrugged, but his expression didn’t lighten.“Don’t know.I just—he works so damn hard, you know?And he won’t ask for help unless it’s too late, and I tried to talk to him directly, but he said he was fine, and I thought you could try…”

I nodded, understanding what he meant.“I’m heading over there next with a delivery.I’ll see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

“Don’t tell him I told you anything,” Ryan said quickly, giving me a pointed look.“Or be super-obvious.”

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