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Chapter 686:
And they drove on into the gathering dark, toward a future June had not planned and could not control, holding hands like children who had finally found their way home.
The Whole Foods on the Upper West Side occupied the ground floor of a building that had once been a bank, its high ceilings and marble floors now dedicated to the commerce of organic produce and sustainably sourced fish.
June pushed a cart through the produce section, her movements automatic, her mind still processing the conversation in the car. The Berkshires. A secret house. A man who wanted to be seen.
She should be frightened. She should be constructing arguments, building walls, preparing her retreat.
𝘋𝗶ѕ𝗰𝘰𝗏𝖾𝘳 𝗁id𝘥е𝗻 𝘨𝖾𝗆ѕ o𝘯
Instead, she was debating the relative merits of romaine versus butter lettuce with a focus that felt almost meditative.
“You’re overthinking the salad,” Easton said from behind her, his own cart laden with items she had not authorized: wine, cheese, a chocolate torte that looked obscenely expensive.
“I’m not overthinking. I’m optimizing. The romaine has better crunch, but the butter lettuce has p>
“Better flavor.” Easton reached past her, his arm brushing her shoulder, and selected a head of butter lettuce with the confidence of a man who had never doubted his own judgment. “Trust me. I know my way around a kitchen p>
June raised an eyebrow. “You cook p>
“I went to law school, June. I lived on ramen and regret for three years. I learned to cook out of self-defense.” He smiled, and it was different here, in this mundane space, stripped of the intensity that usually accompanied their interactions. “Besides, I want to cook for you. I want to—” he stopped, his expression shifting, becoming more serious, “—I want to take care of you. In small ways. In ways that don’t require legal expertise or emergency intervention p>
June felt something shift in her chest. She looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the vulnerability beneath the competence, the need beneath the generosity.
“Parmesan,” she said, because she could not respond to his confession without crying, and she refused to cry in the produce section of Whole Foods. “Or pecorino. For the pasta p>
Easton’s smile returned, gentler now, understanding. “Pecorino,” he said. “Saltier. More interesting p>
They moved toward the cheese section, their carts parallel, their shoulders almost touching. June felt herself relaxing into the normalcy of it—the simple pleasure of shared purpose, of domestic routine, of being with another person without the weight of crisis or consequence.
She was reaching for a wedge of cheese when Easton’s hand found her wrist, his touch firm and grounding.
“Don’t turn around,” he said, his voice low and casual, though his fingers imparted a silent, urgent pressure. “Keep looking at the cheese. Smile like I just said something charming p>
June felt her pulse spike. She forced her fingers to close around the pecorino, forced her lips to curve in something approximating amusement.
“What is it p>