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Chapter Sixteen

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," she said. "A little."

They hadn't eaten since around one today, with her family. She usually didn't like to go more than three hours without eating, but today had been a day of exceptions. First, the skipping her afternoon meal and then with fucking on her bed at her parent's.

"Did you want to make something, or should we stop somewhere?"

"Uhm . . . Let's make something."

He gripped her thigh. "We could make a pizza."

"From scratch?"

He smiled. "From scratch."

"Perfect." She trailed her fingers up and down his hand. "Do you have pineapple?"

"Pineapple, Claire? You're still on that?"

"You never just get over pineapple. It's a way of life."

"Gross."

"Well? Do you have some or not?"

"No." He huffed. "I do not have fucking pineapple because pineapple does not belong on pizza. I'm sorry. I don't make the rules."

"There are no rules for pizza! Please! I could make my own little separate one. Pretty please, Greg. I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

He had that look in his eyes. She couldn't even imagine what he was thinking.

Claire nodded. "Anything."

He took a left and they drove to the Pick'n Save. Claire was practically giddy with excitement. She hadn't eaten pizza in . . . months, maybe even more. It had always been a really big trigger food for her but, once again, today was a day of exceptions. It was a good day. A really good day.

They pulled into the parking lot, Greg grumbling to himself as he turned off the car and came over to her side to open up the door. But he was smiling, too. She took his hand in hers as they walked into the store, the warm air flooding them as the sliding glass doors opened. He picked up a basket, and they began their journey through the aisles.

It was nice. Being like this with him in public.

It was a small town, and they might run into somebody that they knew, but Claire didn't really mind. What they did was their business. She was happy. There was that always constant little smile on Greg's face; she was sure he was happy, too. It was just so . . . nice.

"Should we get the chunks or a whole pineapple?" she asked.

"Do they even have the whole one here in winter?"

"I think so."

"Let's do the whole one, then. I want you to have to work for it."

She leaned against his arm, running her thumb over the backs of his knuckles. "You're the worst, ya know that?"

He wasn't, though. He was the complete opposite of the worst.

They walked past the bananas and oranges and were just a few rows away from the pineapples when Greg put his hand on the small of her back and forced her to turn around. His hand became clammy against hers; he wasn't smiling anymore.

"Ya know what? I actually forgot that I don't have any sauce or tomatoes. Let's go get that first."

Claire looked at him, but he wasn't looking at her. He had his neck craned back, his eyes locked on a tall brunette a ways down the aisle, near the baby carrots. The woman didn't smile or wave; she stared at Greg, put a bag into her basket, and turned away. Oh.