Page 52 of Tempest’s Torment

She walks beside me in comfortable silence as we make our way to the supermarket. A couple of times, I catch her looking at me. Not for very long but enough to tell me she's noticed something's different and is curious about it. Thankfully, she doesn't ask; she just keeps pace beside me, letting me have my own head. I'm beginning to think that's one of the things she does best.

Inside, she grabs a basket and heads straight for the fruit and vegetables.

"You've done this before," I say, grinning.

She glances over her shoulder. "Grocery shopping?"

"This particular store," I amend.

She smiles. "I know where everything is."

"I can tell."

She laughs quietly. "I come here every week."

"Are you always this organized?"

"I have to be." She says it without thinking, but then she catches herself and her smile slips for a second. I don't push; she’ll tell me if she wants.

She stops in front of the pasta. "This one," she says, but I’m already reaching for a different brand. "Not that one."

I look at her. "Are you judging my pasta choices already?"

She nods. "Absolutely."

I narrow my eyes. "We've only known each other for a week."

"Long enough to know you shouldn't be trusted to pick pasta."

I swap it for the one she's holding. "Happy?"

She smiles. "Very."

A few aisles later, she reaches for something on the top shelf just as I do. Our hands meet, just my fingers brushing the back of hers. She stills, only for a second, then she looks at me and neither of us moves.

"I've got it," she says quietly.

I let go. "Sorry."

"Don't be,” she says with a soft smile as she takes it from the shelf and drops it into the basket.

We carry on walking, and I tell myself I didn’t just feel a spark when our fingers met. But the trouble is I'm not sure I believe myself anymore.

My phone rings when we're halfway back to the apartment; it’s Ghost.

I answer it. "Prez."

"Church in an hour."

My gut twists. Fuck. "Yeah."

"Stay with Lilah."

I glance at her as she walks beside me, reading the label on something she'd picked up at the supermarket. That tightening in my gut unfurls. "I was planning to."

"Good,” he says. “If you were coming to church, she'd be coming to the clubhouse."

I snort. "That would've gone down well."