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Simon pushes the cart toward the grocery section. Jamie follows at my side, and Oliver walks on the other side of the cart correcting the list as if strawberries might become illegible before we reach produce.
People look. They see three men orbiting one woman and decide they understand. Two teenagers whisper near the freezer section. An older man moves his wedding ring around his finger while his wife pretends not to stare at Jamie’s skirt.
Simon rejects the first two cartons of strawberries. He takes a third from the display and holds it toward me. Jamie reaches into the carton Simon chose. Simon moves it out of range without looking at him.
“If you touch one before I wash them, I’ll put the flamingos back.”
Jamie puts both hands behind him. “You can’t make that decision.”
“I have the cart.”
“I have Heather.” Jamie loops both arms around me and leans against my shoulder.
Simon looks at me. “He’s using you to protect party decorations.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to let him?”
I move Jamie’s hair away from his mouth. “For now.”
Jamie smiles at Simon. Simon puts the strawberries in the cart without removing the flamingos.
Oliver marks the item off the list. “We need mint.”
The garden center is visible through the glass doors past produce. Rows of flowers sit beneath bright white lights, arranged by color rather than any sensible consideration of what grows well together.
Jamie notices them.
“We have enough flowers,” Simon says.
“We have dead people with flowers,” Jamie says.
The woman selecting peppers beside us drops one.
Oliver closes his eyes. Simon stares at Jamie. Jamie realizes what he said only after the pepper rolls beneath the display.
The woman retrieves her pepper and moves away without looking at us again.
I take Jamie’s chin. “Think before you speak in public.”
His eyes drop. “Sorry, Heather.”
“What happens beneath the flowers is nobody else’s business.” I let him go and point toward the garden center. “You may choose one plant.”
Jamie kisses my cheek before I can correct him. Then he hurries through the glass doors with Oliver following at a more reasonable pace.
Simon watches them leave. “He’s going to come back with something poisonous.”
“I’ll put it over one of the Olivers.”
Oliver turns in time to hear that. “I would prefer lavender.”
“You already have roses,” I tell him.
Simon takes a bunch of mint from the display and smells it. He puts two bunches in the cart.
Jamie chooses a tray of white alyssum because the flowers are tiny enough to suit the miniature garden I’m building. He carries it carefully through the rest of the store.
