* * *
Keely turned the shopping cart to her right at the end of the row, heading for the next aisle. She’d missed shopping in a huge market, where she could buy anything from paper towels to filet mignon, all in one easy trip. Manhattan was full of delis, and small, specialty shops. Putting a meal together could mean stops at four different small stores, and the prices were enough to break your heart.
She turned into the aisle reserved for canned vegetables, sauces, nine million varieties of pasta, and quickly grabbed at the baby’s hand as she steered too close to a stack of canned corn. “You have more tentacles than an octopus, little girl,” Keely said, still pushing the cart with one hand... right up until the moment the cart collided with one heading in the opposite direction.
“Oh! Sorry about that,” she apologized quickly, instinctively checking to see if the baby was all right, although she was neatly strapped in to a baby seat built into the cart. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No kidding, Sherlock.”
Keely looked up, straight into the gorgeous, maddening, sexy, and at the same time, condemning blue eyes of one Jack Trehan. “You. What are you doing here?”
“Running jokes about women drivers through my head?” Jack suggested, then added, “I’m starving, that’s why I’m here. Man cannot live by McDonald’s quarter-pounders alone. I know, I’ve tried. Why are you here? And who’s paying for that?” he asked, gesturing toward the heavily loaded cart.
Keely looked at the contents of the cart. “The Midol and shampoo are mine. I’ll submit a bill to you for the rest of it. Do you like chicken? I thought we’d have chicken for dinner. Or hadn’t you figured out yet that if I’m living at the house, I have to eat? I figure I can compromise a little, can cook for you, too, while I’m at it.”
She gestured toward a white bag in the cart. “Want a doughnut? I’ve already eaten three, but there are two left. Or did you have lunch somewhere else?”
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “You cook?” He said it in the same tone he might have used to ask, “You make bombs in your basement?”
“Yes, I cook,” Keely told him. “Oh, and I bought a couple of throwaway pans for the chicken and some baked potatoes, but I will have to do some heavy-duty shopping for pots, pans, dishes. I don’t like paper plates, either. And I have to ask you—how long have you been living in that house? Living like... like... well, it couldn’t have been for long, could it?”
“Less than a week,” Jack told her, swinging his cart around so that they could walk, side-by-side, down the wide aisle. “I had the place built last year, and Sadie moved in over the garages, but I’d never planned on really living there. At least not for another ten years or so. I have a condo in Manhattan.”
Keely pulled down two long, thin boxes of #11 pasta. “Ah, the obligatory condo in Manhattan. Overlooking the park, I’m sure. Lucky, solvent you. I had a third-floor walk-up in Brooklyn, with no air-conditioning in the summer and very little heat in the winter. I miss it like I’d miss a hair shirt.”
“Traveling with the team, it just made sense to have my home base in New York,” Jack told her as he dumped five cans of chili into his cart—dropping them next to two bottles of salsa and an economy-size bag of corn tortillas. Obviously the man was a connoisseur of fine junk food, and with a cast-iron stomach. The only other items in his cart were a TV Guide, a pack of beef jerky, and a jar of hot sausages.
“See you’re eating from all the basic food groups—spices, fat, preservatives. Breath mints and antacids might be a good choice, when we get to that aisle. So you didn’t come back here, even to visit? Even in the off-season?”
“Tim—that’s my brother—has a house here, and I usually bunk with him when I’m in town. The house is a tax write-off, that’s all, and a way to give Sadie a place of her own. Or at least it was.”
“I like your aunt Sadie. She’s making me a pink pumpkin in ceramics class.” They turned the corner, heading for the next aisle, the baby oohing and aahing at the lights above her head. “You know,” Keely said after a moment, “I think we’re having a conversation here, our first real conversation since we met this morning. It’s rather nice, not throwing darts at each other all the time, especially since we’re living together now. Are you as surprised as I am?”
He stopped his cart, and she had to look back at him.
“What? Now what did I say that’s put your knickers in a twist?” she asked, just as willing to fight as to converse; the guy really did rub her the wrong way. Rich. Idle. Sucking up air and watching his stocks grow, and pushing all the real work onto everyone else. All while feeling sorry for himself, like his life was over. He ought to try being out of work and broke, and see how much he liked that! “Well? What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “I just... that is... well, we will be living together for a while, like you just said, but that’s because of M and M, not for any other reason. I just don’t want you getting any ideas.”
“Getting any—what! Oh, brother,” Keely spat, shaking her head. “Go away, Jack Trehan. Get out of here now, while your head still fits through the doorway and you can stagger out to the parking lot. Getting any ideas? Yeah. Right. Like that’s going to happen. Come on, kid, I think I’m in the mood for some expensive candy and ice cream shopping.”
“Hey, look—don’t get all... oh, the hell with it,” she heard Jack say as she pushed the cart down the aisle.
She didn’t look back.