THEN AGAIN • TC ✔️

1. Celeriac Cobbler

There is no way in hell that they need that many apples.

Because Timmy's always eating apples and there's a veritable mountain of them in the fruit bowl. (There's no use in calling it a fruit bowl anymore because it's literally just apples, but Clem still calls it a fruit bowl because occasionally she'll manage to balance a few kiwis on top of the stack, maybe a banana or two. Then Timmy will come and extract an apple and the whole thing will come toppling down, and the worst thing is that he always takes the apples from the top of the pile, so the ones at the bottom just go brown and start stinking).

Timmy puts a paper bag of apples into the trolley and Clem glares at him. He turns away nonchalantly; starts looking at a stack of potatoes and she wonders why she bothers, because in the end she'll always let him get away with it. Clem looks despairingly at the apples. Thinks about the stack of them at home that Timmy still hasn't eaten, but they've argued over this before and he always wins because I've touched them now, I can't put them back.

"Do we want radishes?" he asks, picking one up by the stalk, and she just looks at him because they've never bought radishes before. Clem doesn't even think she's eaten a radish before. She shakes her head at him, and Timmy puts the radish down. "Only a suggestion," he says quietly, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Celeriac?"

Clem laughs at that. "What the hell are we going to do with celeriac?" she asks, snorting at the vegetable that Timmy picks up. It's almost the size of his head (and Timmy has a relatively small head, but still).

"Cook," he shrugs.

"Yeah? Cook what?"

"I don't know..." he trails off. Lets the celeriac fall back onto the pile. "Cobbler."

Clem snorts. "Celeriac cobbler?"

Timmy grins at her. Tugs on the end of their trolley and guides it down the aisle towards the pre-packaged fruit and vegetables. "Should we get peppers?"

"Oh, yeah." Clem watches him put a mixed bag into their cart. "Get another green one," she says, and Timmy frowns.

"I don't like green peppers," he pouts, putting another green pepper into the trolley. (It's true, he doesn't, but Clem always slips them into her cooking and he never says a thing about it.)

"You don't have to eat them, then," she retorts, picking it up and checking that the vegetable isn't bruised (because Timmy's great at checking for dents on produce he likes, but green peppers don't fall into that category). The pepper is fine; Clem puts it back into the trolley.

Timmy wheels them around the corner into a new aisle, chucking a carton of plums into the cart nonchalantly, like she won't notice. Clem does notice, but she lets him think that she hasn't. He gasps suddenly, and Clem's left wondering what it is because suddenly takes off down the aisle, long legs and big strides until he reaches the bargain bin.

"What is it?" she calls out, taking bigger steps with the trolley to catch up, and Timmy lifts up a big of apples in what seems like victory. His scarf bundles up around his neck, hiding the lower half of his face, but Clem can see that he's grinning because his eyebrows are raised and his eyes are widened.

"They're on offer," he says, like this is seriously going to convince her. Clem gives a defeated shrug, because Timmy is never going to back down.

"It's your money," she sighs. Brings the cart closer so he can put the apples in. "I don't know what we're going to do with so many of them, though."

"You could make crumble," he says, like it's a passing thought, like he hasn't mentioned it to her at least three times since Sunday. It's only Tuesday.

"As you keep saying," Clem replies. Takes in the little look on his face and caves, just a little. "I'll think about it," she says heavily, and Timmy grins like he knows he's won. (He has).

"Maybe you could make it for your little date on Friday," he says, quirking a brow, and at this point he knows how much this irritates Clem. He does it just to be difficult.

"What, so you can come and crash it halfway through?" she rolls her eyes, and Timmy rolls his own.

"No, I wouldn't do that. I mean, after he's gone, or whatever." He drums his fingers on the sides of the trolley and looks at her expectantly.

"So what you're saying is that you want crumble."

"Yes," he smiles. "But-"

"Mr Chalamet!"

Timmy and Clem whip around, and there's a high school kid standing there with a loaf of bread and a box of cereal. Timmy grins. Raises a hand.

"Hey, Leo," he grins. "Getting on okay with that work I set?"

The kid shrugs, the bread shifting in his grip. "S'okay. Long. I'm quite busy at the moment."

"Oh, well, email me if you need an extension. I'm sure we can sort something out," Timmy replies, and Leo nods.

"Are you coming to the game this week?" Leo asks, and Timmy nods.

"Oh, yeah, definitely. Kick off 7:30?"

Leo nods back. "Yeah. See you there, Sir," he smiles, his eyes grazing over Clem as he leaves.

Timmy turns back to the trolley and looks over the contents. "Have we got everything?"

Clem stares at him for a second. Wonders how he can change so quickly from Timmy to Mr Chalamet to Timmy again. (And Timmy is the young teacher that everyone loves, because he's light on homework and he doesn't shout but he also doesn't take shit from anybody. He's never said as much - hell, Clem's never even seen him teaching - but she just knows.)

Clem nods distractedly. "Uh, yeah, I think so."

Timmy looks over the contents of their cart, his eyes resting on the two bags of apples they now have. "Are you sure we don't need any more?" he asks, fiddling with the paper and Clem is close to hitting him but he looks up and he's just grinning. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Timmy says, raising his hands either side of his head. "Come on, let's go," he smiles, adjusting his scarf around his neck, and Clem obligingly pushes the trolley towards the checkout.