Page 25 of Ice Darling
“We could talk about what it’s like to be a Davenport. Is it true that you once met the president?”
That was my sister.
I flinch. “I’d rather talk about Renthrow.”
“Suits me.” May grins. “I heard you two were cuddling in Bob’s Burgers.”
My lips tighten. The Olympics should make “nosiness” an official sport. Lucky Falls would walk away with all the gold medals.
I hasten my way to the frozen food aisle. “Did Gordie tell you?”
“It was in the group chat.”
I arch a brow. “What group chat?”
“The nursing home group chat.” May grabs packages of microwavable mashed potatoes and compares them. “I’ll add you if you want. They always have the best gossip, but I do have to warn you that it’s easy to get sucked in and lose track of time.”
“No, thanks.” I grab a microwavable chicken parmesan and set it in my cart. I’m thinking of eating these for lunch next week. That way, April and Rebel can get off my back about eating tuna sandwiches all the time.
The wheels clank as May pushes forward to meet me around the fruit aisle. “Are you and Renthrow dating?”
“No.”
“Fake dating?”
“You said that as if it’s a normal thing to do.”
May’s lips curl up. “Around here? It kind of is.”
I have no idea what that means.
“No, we’re not involved. We were set up by our mothers.” I grab a bunch of bananas and some apples and search the refrigerated section. “Do you see the green grapes?”
“Those moved over here,” May says, pointing to the opposite side of the aisle.
“Great.” I hurry around the baskets.
“You like grapes that much?” May chuckles.
“You can say that.” I keep my eyes peeled for my favorite green grapes. There’s only one pack left.
Thrilled, I reach for it only for a pair of hands to snatch it away.
“Oops. Seems like I got the last one,” a woman says smugly.
My jaw tightens, and my nostrils flare as I glare up at the stranger. She has dark hair and long, fake eyelashes that are batting away in fake innocence.
I snarl at her, calculating the odds of a win if I started a fistfight. She’s taller than me, but she’s wearing a flowery summer dress, sandals, and enough blush on her cheeks to make a bull see red. I doubt she’s ever been in a fight. One stomp of my boots on her polished toes and the grapes could be mine.
“Miss Potts, hi!” May says, giving the thief a wave.
“Hi, May. And…who’s this?” Miss Potts arches an eyebrow at me.
Since she has my grapes in her grip right now, I don’t feel like exchanging pleasantries.
“This is Cordelia,” May speaks for me. “The newest mechanic at The Pink Garage.”
It still stings to lose my favorite grapes, so I ignore both her and May, ready to stomp away.
