Chapter 30
Brynn
As we walked through the parking lot, Shea's hand reached for mine. It struck me as a move so natural, I wasn't sure he even knew he'd done it. I wasn't sure if it was too early to hold hands—my head was still spinning from the night's developments.
But I didn't point it out to him. I let go of my worries and gave him my hand. At least for tonight, I could stop wondering about what we were, or what the implications of this night were … and just let myself enjoy the moment with Shea instead.
Together, we walked into the store, hand-in-hand. The glossy vinyl floors reflected the blinding brightness of the overhead fluorescent lights. This late at night, there was an almost surreal, dream-like quality to our outing. Or maybe it was just the fact that here I was, in a random Boston Target, holding Shea Ellis's hand. I kept catching myself taking peeks at him, as if I didn't quite believe this were really real.
Instead of making a beeline straight to the feminine hygiene aisle—or the 'pink aisle,' as Shea called it—we wandered through the rest of the store's aisles instead. We stopped every few feet, pulling products from the shelves for a quick laugh, or to gab about home needs or gift ideas or the perfect piece of furniture. We could've talked for hours about whatever we came across and whatever came to mind. Every little thing in that store offered an opening to talk, to learn about each other, to lean closer together, to admire his radiant white smile and smell his manly scent and squeeze his hand and flirt.
It was sweet, it was light, it was fun. I could've spent hours there with him. But in the end, we finally found ourselves standing in the pink aisle.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me which one you think Chloe wants.”
“Well. Hm. Let's see.” Shea tapped his foot as he examined the wall of tampons. “The generic one. Super absorbent?”
“You make all that money, and you'd buy your daughter store brand?” I slapped at his shoulder. “I hope you're kidding, Shea Ellis.”
He laughed. “I am. But seriously, I don't know which brand she prefers.”
“Here. This is the brand she likes.” I grabbed the box from the shelf—even though I knew Chloe didn't really need it—and handed it to him. “Forty in a box, light flow, unscented, applicator.”
“How do you remember all that?” Shea asked as he tossed the box into his basket.
“It's not that much to remember at all,” I said. “Though I will admit, I used the same tampon back when I used to—” I cut myself off before I accidentally said too much.
Shea raised an eyebrow. “Back when you used to …?”
“I meant, back when I was her age,” I croaked.
If Shea knew something was up, he didn't show it.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yup.”
We made our way to the registers.
In the checkout line, Shea kept me pressed against his side. I noticed a couple shoppers ahead of us kept turning around and staring at us. I wondered, did they recognize Shea? Did they think I was his girlfriend?
Or were we merely a hopelessly attached couple, for whom a midnight run to Target was still a saccharine-sweet adventure, the sight of which nauseated the grizzled masses?
I guessed I'd never know. Unlike our interview at the cafe, no one ever approached Shea for an autograph.
Shea paid, and we made it back to his car.
“Well, thanks, Shea,” I said as we buckled up. “That was one of the most fun and sweetest dates I've ever been on.”
He looked at me like I was nuts. “I don't know what kind of dates you're used to, but that wasn't a date, Brynn. You really thought I was taking you out to Target and calling it a date? I mean, sure, I've got bad Dad-game, ha ha, I get it. But I don't think I'm that bad.”
“No? You and Chloe didn't arrange this?”
He started to laugh. “What?”
“Really, I applaud you and Chloe both for putting your heads together and finding a way to get us out of the house together. But I know I'm not crazy. I bought her a box of tampons this past Friday. I remember it clearly.”
The wheels began to turn in both our heads at once.
“Chloe,” we muttered at the same time.
Shea turned the key and drove us home.