Slow Burn(70)

    Oh. This was about the asexual thing. The thing that kept him from going all the way with me. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to spook him. I stirred the hash, but it was basically heated through at this point. I turned off the stove.

    He didn’t say anything else. I watched him stare at the table.

    “Griffin?”

    He shook his head.

    I got out some plates from the cabinet and dished up our breakfast.

    “I can’t find the words,” he said as I put the plates on the table. “I don’t even know how to talk about it.”

    I took his hand. “It’s okay. You’ll figure it out.”

    He drew me into his arms, pressing me tight against him.

* * *

    “That guy.” I pointed. Griffin and I were standing behind a stack of Nilla Wafers in the grocery store, peering at a man in a black suit. He was putting peanut butter in his cart.

    “I don’t recognize him,” said Griffin.

    “Does that mean he’s not Op Wraith?”     “He’s probably not,” said Griffin. “But I don’t know everyone who works there.”

    “Right,” I said.

    “We can’t keep hiding behind the Nilla Wafers,” he said. “It looks suspicious. Move the cart.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Yes, I’m sure. If he’s Op Wraith, I’ll take him out. But we’ll wait for him to make a move.”

    I inched my cart out, casting glances over my shoulder. The suit disappeared at the end of the peanut butter aisle. I let out a breath.

    “Chances are that they don’t even know where we are,” he said. “Chances are we’re safe.”

    “For now,” I said. “But maybe they’ve got spies or something. Maybe someone will see us at the supermarket and report that I’m here. People might recognize me around here.”

    “Maybe,” said Griffin. “But I don’t think so.” He strolled ahead of the cart, and I had no choice but to follow him. He picked up a pack of ground beef. “How do you feel about hamburgers?”

    “Get the 90/10,” I said.

    “It’s more expensive.”

    “It’s got less fat. Therefore more meat. And it’s better for you.”

    He exchanged the packages. “Should we have made a grocery list?”

    I looked around for the guy in the suit. I didn’t see him. I didn’t see anyone suspicious. But that didn’t mean they weren’t watching.

    “Come on,” said Griffin, “stop doing that. You look scared to death. Now, we are a normal couple, shopping for groceries on a romantic trip to Nantucket. Act natural.”

    “Okay,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Let’s get pasta. You like pasta, right?”

    He smiled. “Love it.”

    I turned the cart, and we headed to the pasta aisle. I scrutinized the options. “What shape?”

    “I’m a big fan of spaghetti,” said Griffin.

    “Boring,” I said.

    “Classic,” he said.

    I picked up a box of rotini. “How about this?”

    “Fine with me,” he said.

    “Now we just need sauce,” I said. “Do you like chunky or—”

    The man in the suit appeared at the end of the aisle. I couldn’t breathe.





Chapter Thirteen

    “How about Prego?” said Griffin, picking up a jar.

    “Sure,” I said in a tiny voice.

    He took the cart from me. I followed him.

    “Leigh,” he whispered, “you are not acting natural.”

    “I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t help it. I kept picturing that guy in a suit whipping out a gun and opening fire on both of us, jars of tomato sauce getting hit in the crossfire, splattering the floor.

    It would be red. Like blood.

    And then I thought of Stacey. Her blank eyes.

    I felt like throwing up.

    Griffin was pushing the cart ahead of me. I had to catch up.