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Fartoo domestic. The kind of thing couples who’ve been together for months would do. The kind of thing couples who live together would do.

But before I can think of a reason to object, Sebastian already has hold of a shopping cart and is pushing it past me, out of the vestibule and into the shopping area.

“Hurry up, dear,” he calls over his shoulder in a sing-song voice.

I’m surprised how the sarcastic term of endearment hits me, like a pleasant hum. I’ve never been into pet names with any of the guys I’ve actually gone out with.Dearmight be old-fashioned, but I kind of think I wouldn’t mind a guy I’m dating calling me that.

A guy I’m dating for real, that is. A guy who definitely isn’t Sebastian.

Admitting defeat, I follow him.

Sebastian makes a beeline for the frozen food section. “We have a decent stretch of time without a game coming up, so me and the guys at the house are treating ourselves to a real delicacy for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

Sebastian pulls open one of the freezer doors and grabsfourfrozen pizzas, depositing them in our cart.

I fix an unimpressed look at him. “You are such college guys.”

A smirk makes a dimple dig into his left cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

“Aren’t athletes supposed to take care of their bodies?” I quip as we walk down the aisle.

“Don’t get haughty on me, dear.” There’s that word again. “Don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed the temptation of a frozen pizza for dinner now and then.”

I eye our cart. “Not the extra-large mega-meat lover’s triple-stuffed crust.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try. Maybe for one of our date nights you can come over and I’ll make one for us.”

“Pass.” I lower my voice to say, “Besides, that wouldn’t even be in public. It would defeat the purpose of a date night.”

A shade of disappointment crosses his upbeat expression. It doesn’t take him long to shake it off, though.

As we keep shopping, Sebastian seems to have a comment for everything I put in our cart.

Why does just thinking those words—our cart—make the back of my neck feel hot?

“Tuna? Yuck,” he says as I pick up two cans.

“I like to have it with my pasta,” I say.

“Your whole-grain pasta?” he asks, sliding his eyes to the carton of it I picked up in the last aisle.

I lift my chin. “Something wrong with that?”

He just laughs, shaking his head. “Are you on a soccer team or something and you’ve never told me? You’re eating cleaner than any of the guys on the team.”

I just flash him a prim smile and keep walking. “Food fuels your brain, too,” I say, a sanctimonious ring to my voice.

Even though my back is turned to him, I can visualize the way he rolls his eyes. “Cheesy,” he scoffs.

We pass an area in the back of the store where there are home goods for sale. I stop when a big box catches my eye.

“Oh, that would be perfect,” I say to myself.

“What?” Sebastian asks.

I’m looking at a self-assembly kitchen island table that seems perfect for our kitchen.