Rowan
Well, dearest, since our little 5 person memorial service has become a 50 guest event involving finger foods and chair rentals, we need groceries.
Me
Oh my, this is so sudden. You’ve caught me off guard, I don’t know what to say.
Rowan
Hannah.
Me
Rowan.
Rowan
Will you do me the honor of accompanying me to the grocery store this evening?
Me
OMG! Yes! A thousand times yes!
Rowan
Meet me at the Safeway after you leave.
Me
Yes, sergeant.
So much cheese.
“We’re overthinking this,” I announce. “It’s charcuterie for a bunch of old men who consider tobacco a food group.”
Rowan stares at the refrigerated wall of dairy with a grimace as though it disgusts him mankind has wasted so much of its existence mastering the art of flavoring cheese.
He offers a sage nod. “You’re right, it’s just cheese.”
“Grab the cubed stuff and we’ll toss it on a platter with some toothpicks.”
He agrees but only stares harder, no movement. I bite back a laugh.
“While you figure this out, I’m gonna grab the crackers.”
Another nod. I turn to walk away, but he grabs me by the hand and hauls me back to him, bringing my face an inch from his.
His voice is dark, the words spilling against my lips when he whispers, “Get the good crackers.”
I kiss him once. “On it. And Rowan?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Remember”—kiss—“it’s just”—kiss—“cheese.” I walk backward one step, then two, holding his gaze as I go. “You can do this.”
I find the cracker aisle on the opposite side of the market. After browsing for a couple minutes, I grab a few boxes and am about to head back to find Rowan when a shopping cart turns the corner in my periphery.
Arms laden, I look up in time to see the person behind the cart come into view. My heart stops in my chest.