Page 90 of Maid For Each Other

I picked up Abi from work at noon on Saturday, and it was wild walking into the grocery store again. When I’d charged in there the first time, livid that some person was pretending to be my girlfriend, I’d seen a cute checkout girl who I assumed was a criminal.

But today when I walked in and looked over at checkout counter two, I saw a stunningly beautiful woman who made my heart feel lighter when I looked at her.

Who I wasn’t sure felt the same.

I was respecting her boundaries, especially when I didn’t know her feelings, but it was killing me not to be able to do anything about this situation.

I wasn’t used to being patient.

She smiled when she saw me. I got in her line and said, “Are you ready?”

“Benny,” she yelled over her shoulder, “I’m leaving.”

“Did you get the produce stocked?” he yelled back.

“Of course I did,” she said.

“Karen, have a good weekend,” she said to the woman at counter one.

“You, too, Abs,” the woman replied, and I still really liked that.Abs. I really liked everything about her, and I didn’t know what to do with that.

My inner chaos only got worse when she gave me a full-on grin and said, “I’m so excited to go to Kansas City.”

The hesitation I’d seen in her eyes the other morning was gone, and the tone of her “fine—I’ll go” text was nowhere to be found. This was Abi in her full-throttle Abiness, and I could only agree. “Me, too.”

I didn’t know what to expect from a road trip with Abi, but I was looking forward to a few hours of just her with zero distractions.

As soon as we hit the road, she said, “I’m assuming you’re good with us taking turns on the music selection?”

“Sure,” I said as I merged onto the freeway.

“Perfect,” she said, connecting her phone. “Let’s play the music game, then, Dexxie.”

“I don’t think you can call that a game,” I said.

“Hush until you know the rules,” she said. “And my first song choice is ‘Promiscuous’ by Nelly Furtado.”

I had to reach deep into the area of my brain where all the forgotten songs of the early 2000s lived to retrieve that gem. “Why is that your first song?”

“Because I thought of it the other day and feel like I haven’t heard it in years, and I used to love it. Oh—also the important part of the music game is that you have to sing along to your songperfectly.”

“Still not a game, and no, thank you,” I said, switching lanes.

“Well, it’s a game if the person who sings along best, without missing any words, wins a prize,” she said, obviously flying by the seat of her pants.

“Is there a prize?” I asked, glancing over.

“Um,” she said, looking around.

“So there isn’t a prize,” I said, laughing. “And you’re just making this up.”

“There will be a prize,” she said defensively. “And keep your eyes on the road, Powell. It’s going to be the most amazing, wonderful prize, but the person who wins it has to be really good at singing along, so you probably shouldn’t even worry about it. Not yours to win.”

“How about the winner gets tochoosethe prize?” I suggested.

“That sounds dangerous,” she said.

“Do we need to have parameters and limits? Rules to your prizes?”

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