Page 10

Kieran

Thea dropped us off at the front entrance before heading off to her office, determined to dig up a lead on my clouded past.

The automatic doors whooshed open, and I froze on the threshold like I was about to walk into enemy territory.

“You alright?” Dahlia asked, nudging me forward with her hip as she pushed the cart.

I blinked at the bright lights, the sounds, the people. “This building hums.”

“It’s fluorescent lighting. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t think I will.”

But I followed her inside anyway, eyes wide as saucers, glancing around like I expected something to leap off the shelves and bite me. It was all so aggressive.

“Alright,” she said, trying to get us on track. “We’re doing the basics. Bread. Eggs. Vegetables. Meat. Soap. Stuff that won’t make you try to burn down my kitchen again.”

I grumbled under my breath, “You try cooking after being a locket ghost for two centuries,” but trailed after her dutifully, fingers trailing across packages and cans with silent curiosity.

When we passed the electronics section, I stopped dead. The wall of TVs, all playing the same thing, a plump woman cooking various things on a stove more advanced than I had ever seen, seemed to mesmerize me.

“What sorcery is this?” I murmured.

“It’s just a TV. Screens. Moving pictures. Sound.”

“Madness.”

She snorted and tugged my arm. “Come on, Gordon Ramsay. We’ve got a list.”

I hesitated, then followed. We made it about four aisles before I got distracted again — this time by the soap section. I picked up a bar of lilac-scented body wash and sniffed it, then recoiled like it had slapped me.

“That’s vile,” I said, coughing.

“Yeah, we’re not doing lilac,” Dahlia agreed.

I picked up another bar — cucumber melon — and scowled at it like it had personally insulted my lineage. Finally, I found a bar wrapped in rough brown paper labeled “All-Natural Oat & Honey Soap” and held it up like I’d been given a gift from the gods.

“This one,” I said, nodding with great seriousness. “This doesn’t smell like lies.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, Sir Oat-and-Honey. You win.”

Then I spotted a bottle of liquid soap next to it. Curious, I squeezed some into my palm. The thick, slimy liquid clung to my skin, leaving it feeling mucousy and disgusting.

“What fresh hell is this?” I grimaced, trying to rub it off. “It feels like pond scum.”

Dahlia laughed. “That’s liquid soap. It’s supposed to be convenient, but yeah, some people don’t like the texture.”

“I’ll take the solid bar, thank you very much.”

In the produce section, Dahlia taught me the difference between zucchini and squash, which then led to me loudly asking, “And what, pray tell, is a vegetable medley?” — and debated the merits of canned vs. fresh tomatoes (a sore topic, given our dinner last night).

I leaned close while she sorted through apples. “You do this every week?”

“Grocery shopping? Yep.”

“Seems like a great deal of trouble for food.”

“Well, most modern people don’t have gardens or sacrificial offerings anymore, so we make do with reusable bags and discount coupons.”

I gave a soft, amused noise and picked up a pomegranate, turning it in my hand thoughtfully. “This used to mean something sacred.” A gift to show your undying love, like Hades and Persephone.

“Still does. Just now it means ‘six dollars each and a pain to peel.’”

My smile was slightly crooked. “I like this. The learning.”

That caught her off guard. “Yeah?”

I nodded, eyes soft. “There’s a rhythm to this place. Even if it’s loud and smells like plastic and fruit wax.”

She smiled, nudging me with her elbow. “We’ll make a modern man out of you yet.”

My brow lifted. “Does that mean I have to wear those strange trousers that look way too tight-like someone stitched them on?”

“Skinny Jeans? Gods, no. I’d sooner burn them.”

My laugh was low and rough — genuine this time. And maybe I was imagining it, but when our hands brushed while reaching for a loaf of bread, I didn’t feel the need to recoil at her touch.

We made one last loop through the aisles, Dahlia scanning her list and muttering about forgetting cheese.

I dutifully followed, arms loaded with things she assured me were essential—olive oil, toothpaste that promised to whiten teeth with "science," and a box of something called Cheez-Its that I’m still convinced are not food.

She handed me a bag of coffee beans and smiled when I sniffed the package like a bloodhound.

“This smells… divine,” I muttered, more to myself than her. “I didn’t know the afterlife had been lacking until now.”

“Just wait until you have your first cup.”

I wasn’t sure if that was a threat or a promise, but I nodded solemnly and added it to the cart.

By the time we made it to the front of the store, the cart was overflowing, and I had become proficient in dodging people, fluorescent buzz, and some abomination called a self-checkout kiosk that Dahlia steered us firmly away from.

“No,” she said flatly when I pointed at it. “That thing eats souls.”

Good enough for me.

We rolled up to a manned register where a young man with artfully tousled hair and a badge that said “Braden :)” greeted Dahlia with a too-wide grin.

“Hey there,” he said, eyes flicking to her face and staying there. “Did you find everything okay today?”

Dahlia smiled politely. “Yeah, thanks.”

He started scanning our items with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever, barely looking at what he was doing because he was too busy making small talk. “You must’ve come in for the essentials, huh? Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to get out of the house on such a beautiful day.”

I didn’t like the way he looked at her. I didn’t like the way he said house like he was imagining himself in it.

I leaned an elbow on the counter and narrowed my eyes, stepping a little closer to her. “We came in because the pantry was empty. Not everything’s an opportunity , lad.”

Braden blinked and glanced at me for the first time. His smile faltered slightly. “Uh, right. Of course.”

Dahlia coughed into her hand, clearly trying not to laugh.

Braden resumed scanning, visibly more focused on the actual groceries. I watched each item pass his hands like a hawk watching prey. He didn’t say another word until he read the total, then gave it with all the energy of a kicked puppy.

Dahlia swiped her card and thanked him sweetly. I grabbed the bags before he could even offer to help.

Outside, she burst into laughter. “Kieran. Did you just alpha-male a teenager?”

I scowled. “Flower, he was leering at you like a starving man eyeing a roast.”

“He was being friendly.”

“He was being hopeful .”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Gods, you’re ridiculous.”

I handed her the lighter bags and hefted the rest. “Only because I’ve seen what happens when men like that start smiling too wide.”

She tilted her head, amused. “And what happens?”

“They get disappointed. Sometimes violently.”

“You’re such a man .”

“Good.”

But when I reached to intertwine her fingers with mine as we walked to the curb to wait for Thea, she didn’t pull away.

Just so no one gets any ideas about talking to my flower.