Bachelorette Blues. Robyn Amos
closed Max’s refrigerator, shaking her head. This was going to be more of a challenge than she’d realized.
“Okay, Max, we’ll have to go to the store. You don’t even have the basics. Let me see your recipe so we can figure out exactly what we need.”
His brows rose innocently. “Recipe?”
“Yes. Don’t you have a…You don’t, do you?”
He showed her his straight white teeth, as if flashing that sexy smile would make up for everything. “Well, no.”
She grinned. Somehow she just couldn’t argue with that smile. “Lucky for you, I grabbed one of my cookbooks on the way out. It’s in the car.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “You think of everything. I appreciate you helping me out like this.”
“No problem.” She thought of everything? Yeah, right. She used to think of everything, but today was a different story. She wasn’t even sure if the cookbook she’d brought had a chocolate mousse cake recipe. There hadn’t been time to check. “Let me go get it. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait. I’ll grab my keys and we can leave for the store.”
She looked at him in surprise. “But we haven’t made a list yet.”
Max shrugged. “Why make a list when we already have the cookbook?”
“You want to lug a cookbook around the grocery store with us?”
“We can manage.”
Shayna shook her head in confusion. “Max, it only takes five minutes to write out a list.”
“It only takes five minutes to drive to the grocery store.” He winked at her, leading her into the hallway. “See, I just showed you how to save yourself five extra minutes.”
Shayna rolled her eyes, realizing that she’d been beaten at her own game. They retrieved the cookbook from her car, then got into Max’s Pathfinder.
While she flipped through the cookbook, Max turned on the radio. She was just about to ask him whether he preferred Ultimate Chocolate Mousse Cake or the Chocolate Mocha Mousse Cake, when the chorus to an old Smokey Robinson song came up.
Max sang loud, off-key and with feeling.
Shayna stared at him. He gave her a sympathetic look, but continued to sing with all his heart. When the chorus came up again, he tapped her knee, inviting her to join in. She looked at him in horror.
Max winked, singing even louder.
He hit the high note flat, but it didn’t matter. Steering, with one arm, through the light Sunday traffic, he leaned back, fully enjoying the music.
At the end of the song, he turned down the radio and sighed. “Damn, I wish I could sing.”
A giggle slipped past Shayna’s lips. “You’re not the only one.” They looked at each other and set off in a fit of laughter.
He began to sing along with the next song, and Shayna had to smile. Despite a strong baritone voice, Max couldn’t hit a note with a sledgehammer. But he didn’t let that stop him…and that was actually pretty endearing.
Most men she knew would never allow her to see them at such a disadvantage, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to laugh at themselves about it. They always had to maintain a veneer of control—the way she did.
The unwanted picture of Phillip Browning, Jr. singing James Brown’s “I Feel Good” popped into Shayna’s mind, and she almost laughed out loud. Only, in this rendition, he would probably change the word feel to look, then take credit for writing an original song.
“We’re here.” Max shifted the truck into park, and as they walked toward the grocery store, he gestured at the slip of paper in her hand. “What’s that?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “It’s a list. I made it in the car.”
He chuckled.
“It won’t be as effective because I don’t know how the aisles are laid out in this store. You can save more time if you make your list according to the aisles.”
Still chuckling at her words, Max picked out a shopping cart. Shayna couldn’t help feeling as though he were laughing at her.
She followed him through the automatic doors. “I know you don’t have much reverence for schedules, but they can really make a difference in your life.”
Pushing the cart toward the first aisle, Max smiled at her politely. “I believe you. What’s the first item on the list?”
“You know…” Shayna said, frowning thoughtfully. “You should let me work up a plan for you. Something simple. Consider it a professional courtesy.”
“Uh, Shayna—”
Determined to make him take her seriously, she pressed on. “Really, Max, just think—”
His gaze was fixed beyond her. “Shayna, watch out!”
She turned in time to see a shopping cart careening toward her. Inside was a toddler clapping his hands and shouting, “Whee!” An older boy chased after him.
Trapped between a centerpiece display of eggplant and the orange stand, Shayna had only one choice. She pressed herself against the rows of oranges until she was practically sitting on them. The boys whooshed by.
Her relief was short-lived.
One.
By one.
Oranges.
Began dropping.
To the floor.
Shayna spread her arms, trying to block the falling fruit, but her weight only added to their momentum. Oranges shot out in every direction, rolling down the aisle and under displays.
“Max! Help me!”
Max, who had been standing off to the side, openmouthed, wheeled the empty shopping cart over to her. “Okay, now slowly step away,” he instructed.
She gently eased sideways and the oranges that had been stacked at her back fell into the cart. “What a mess.”
Oranges were everywhere. A young woman in a long skirt was hopscotching over the rolling fruit with a carton of milk and a bag of bagels tucked under her arms. At the end of the aisle, the older of the two boys from the shopping cart derby was trying to juggle oranges, while the toddler clapped with glee.
Max darted around the aisle, gathering oranges while Shayna tried restacking the ones that had fallen into the cart. After she’d stacked three oranges, the pile rolled back off. No matter how she tried, the fruit wouldn’t stay put.
“What’s going on here?” a stock boy asked Shayna just as Max returned with his arms full of oranges.
The mother of the two grocery circus performers showed up to pull her boys away, leaving Shayna and Max to take the blame.
Shayna tried to stack another orange on the stand. “There was a little accident” The orange rolled off onto the stock boy’s foot…followed by three more.
“Aw, man.” The teenager reached down to pick up the oranges. “When I applied for this job, they promised me stuff like this only happened on television.”
“I’m so sorry.” Shayna filled her arms with fruit, trying to help the boy refill the display. He turned suddenly and she spilled her armload all over him.
The boy cursed under his breath, shooing her away. “I’ll take care of it. Just go.”
Shayna and Max hastily rounded the corner into the next aisle. Feeling her cheeks sting, she motioned to the oranges—at least two dozen—that still layered the bottom of their cart.
Max