The cart looked like it had been packed by two people going through a breakup and a midlife crisis at the same time.
One side was all color, sugar, and artificially flavored dreams, mine. The other side? Greens, lean meat, tofu, protein bars, sadness, Kieran's.
And now we were side by side, bickering under our breath while the cashier blinked at us like we were the live entertainment for the day.
"Did you really need three boxes of those hotdog-stuffed croissants?" Kieran muttered beside me, stacking a tray of eggs and tofu onto the belt.
"Did you really need to ruin the experience of grocery shopping with your leafy agenda?" I shot back.
"You're gonna clog your arteries by thirty."
"Well at least I'll die happy and full of cheese."
He opened his mouth, no doubt to say something equally condescending, but the cashier suddenly burst out laughing.
"Oh my god," she said. "Are you guys dating? You sound like you've been married ten years."
My whole body stiffened. I think I forgot how to breathe.
Kieran, of course, didn't miss a beat. He turned to her with that infuriating calm. "She wishes."
"WHAT—" I nearly dropped the bag of KitKats I was holding. "Excuse me???"
The cashier giggled, clearly enjoying every second of this awkward spectacle.
"You're delusional!" I hissed, shoving a packet of noodles across the scanner.
"I've seen the way you look at me," Kieran whispered, leaning close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. "It's okay. I'm irresistible."
"You're insufferable!" I hissed.
And then, of course, of course he winked. With the mask still half covering his face. Just a single glint in those dangerous eyes like a walking red flag that knew it was hot.
I glared harder.
If I glared any harder I would develop telekinetic powers and launch him into the produce section with my mind.
"Want me to pay?" he offered casually, pulling out his wallet like he did this all the time.
I slapped his hand away. "I have money now, remember?"
"Right. My money," he said, deadpan.
The cashier choked on a laugh. I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.
"I hope a watermelon falls on your foot," I muttered, handing over my card like my dignity wasn't shattered.
He grinned. "Kinky."
....
We stepped out into the low orange wash of sunset like it was a movie scene someone forgot to direct. The bags on my arms were already trying to murder me, but when I pulled out my phone to order a taxi, Kieran nudged my elbow.
"No need," he said. "I can walk."
I squinted up at him. "You literally got shot eleven days ago."
He raised an eyebrow. "And yet, here I am. Walking. Breathing. Gloriously handsome."
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my past lives. "Kieran."
"Kina."
"Fine," I grumbled. "But I'm carrying the bags."
That went well for about twenty seconds. The moment we started walking, I realized the weight of my regret, literally.
"I'm not dying for these noodles," I muttered, adjusting one of the bags before it carved a trench into my shoulder.
"Give me that," Kieran sighed, effortlessly lifting two of the heavier ones from me like they were bags of marshmallows.
"You're recovering," I argued, breathless.
He side-eyed me. "You're weak."
"You really should sleep with one eyes open."
He just chuckled, his mask was still placed perfectly in his face and now that we were out of public view, I stole a glance at him in the golden light. Damn it. Why did he have to look like that? Sunset made him look carved out of warmth and chaos. A soft breeze tousled his damp hair perfectly sat under the cap. He looked less like a wounded criminal and more like some charming side character from a high-budget K-drama.
We walked in silence for a bit. The kind that… didn't feel uncomfortable. Just quiet. Easy.
I'd always wanted to do something like this, stupidly simple stuff. Like grocery shopping with someone. Walking home with a partner. I always thought it'd be with Aaron. My boss. My… boyfriend. Sort of.
But we never had time. We never did simple.
And here I was, bags in hand, walking home with Kieran. The man who ate my poison eggs and still flirted with me. The man who fake dated me in front of my landlady. The man who pointed a gun at me less than two weeks ago.
Was it wrong… that I was having fun?
I'd never tell him that. Or anyone.
"So what's your plan?" I asked to distract myself. "Eat all my groceries, bully me out of my bed again, and conquer the living room?"
"I was thinking more of slowly replacing all your sad furniture," he replied, flicking a glance at my shoulder. "That rice cooker's probably haunted."
I snorted. "You wish."
His lips twitched into a smile. "I kind of do."
Then—
His hand moved. Fast. Behind me.
I turned, confused, my heart already skipping.
And froze.