Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 66

Falling for my boyfriend’s Navy brother

Chapter 66: Asher

The thing about grocery stores is that I usually avoid them like the plague.

Too many carts. Too much idle chatter. Too many people asking themselves if this brand of yogurt aligns with their moral compass or whatever it is people debate in the dairy aisle. It’s overstimulating. Like walking into a Pinterest board with a low–grade migraine.

But I’m here.

Penny texted that her class was over and I told her I’d meet her. She didn’t ask me to. I didn’t offer in a moment of weakness. I just decided.

Because I want to. Because something about walking those aisles with her–watching her get excited over tea options and frozen waffles–sounds… tolerable.

Pleasant, even.

Maybe I’m going soft.

The sky’s overcast again, the gray light pressing against the windows of the store in a way that casts everything in soft, sleepy tones. I park toward the back and cut the engine, taking a second before getting out. The air smells like someone’s making pancakes in a house nearby. It’s warm enough that my hoodie feels unnecessary.

Inside the store, it’s cooler. Cleaner. The kind of cold that wraps around your wrists like metal.

I spot her instantly.

She’s standing near the produce section, reading the back of a container of strawberries like the fate of the free world depends on the pesticide content. Her hair’s still in that slick ponytail, her lilac top hugging the curve of her waist, sleeves pulled up to her elbows. There’s a tiny smudge of ink on her hand- probably from jotting things in that little grocery notebook she uses like a sacred scroll.

And she’s frowning. Concentrating.

She hasn’t seen me yet.

I clear my throat gently.

She looks up and smiles like I’m the first sunlight she’s seen in days. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I say back, stepping into her orbit. “You been standing here this whole time, interrogating fruit?”

She shrugs and lifts the container. “These ones are prettier but these ones smell sweeter. A girl’s got priorities.”

I glance at the two containers, then gesture toward the one on the right. “That one.”

“Sweetness over beauty?”

“I like things that are real.”

She blinks once, then adds the strawberries to the cart and says, almost too casually, “Well that’s vaguely intense for 10 a.m.”

I smirk and grab the cart handle. “Lead the way, princess.”

“Asher!” she says, laughing. “When are you going to drop that?”

“Not anytime soon. Get used to it.”

We start moving through the aisles. First produce, then dairy, then the refrigerated wall of overpriced juices. She’s talking through her shopping list while 1 push the cart beside her, nodding where appropriate. we fall into an easy rhythm: she grabs items, I catch anything she nearly drops, we argue lightly about the merits of off–brand cereal. She tries to convince me that frozen peas are a grocery store essential. I pretend to be disgusted.

1/4

Chapter 66: Asher

“You know,” she says as she drops a bag of spinach into the cart, “you’ve got an uncanny ability to make every aisle feel like a military inspection.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen an inspection.”

“No, but I imagine it involves lots of tight jawlines and critical stares.”

“Sounds like ballet class, I counter.

She stops walking. “Touché.”

We pause near the snack section. She eyes the granola bars like she’s being forced to choose between children. “Do you think these will get me through a week of living with Hayes brothers?”

I tilt my head. “Doubt it. Maybe throw in some chocolate too. For morale.”

“Chocolate it is,” she says and tosses in two kinds. One fancy. One trashy.

The cart’s halfway full by the time we hit the bakery section. She’s talking about how her dad always buys sourdough even though no one eats it, and how her mom has a weird thing for supermarket croissants, when she suddenly stops.

“Okay, this one,” she says, picking up a pack of soft rolls. “This is a splurge. But these are my comfort food. They’re nothing special, just-”

“Familiar,” I finish,

She nods, looking surprised.

I don’t elaborate.

The bakery smell clings to her shirt as we stand there, cinnamon and yeast and that subtle hint of vanilla from her shampoo. I shouldn’t notice. But I do.

When we get to the frozen section, I catch her glancing at me like she’s weighing something.

“What?” I ask.

“Okay,” she says slowly, “don’t laugh.”

“No promises.”

She grabs a box and holds it up. “Do you judge people who buy toaster strudels?”

“Absolutely.”

Her mouth drops. “Really?”

“But only because you need actual toaster skills to cook them evenly.”

“Are you implying I lack toaster skills?”

“I’m saying if the shoe fits…“.

She tosses the box into the cart with a flourish. “I’ll have you know, I’ve never burned a strudel in my life.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s not,” she says, grinning. “I’m excellent with strudels. Ask around.”

“Is that… a thing people do?”

“Only in very elite circles.”

2/4

Chapter 66: Asher

I shake my head, but I’m smiling. This is easy. Too easy. A part of me wants to keep walking these aisles with her forever. Just circling the world one cart- length at a time.

Eventually, we reach the register. She pulls out her wallet but I gently nudge her aside and scan my card before she can protest.

“Hey-”

“I’m buying the groceries,” I say flatly.

“But why?”

“Because you’re feeding me this week.”

“And Tyler.”

“Especially Tyler.”

She narrows her eyes but lets it slide. “I’m buying next time.”

“Sure,” I say, knowing I’ll argue again when that happens.

We load the bags into the back of my car and I drive home.

When we pull into the driveway, she gets out and grabs one bag–and nearly drops it.

I grab the rest.

“I could carry more, you know,” she mutters as I unload the trunk with one arm.

“Could,” I agree. “Won’t.”

“Bossy.”

I don’t disagree.

Inside the house, she starts putting everything away with a kind of organized chaos that only makes sense to her. Crackers in this cupboard. Fruit in this drawer. Granola bars in a ceramic jar that says “Happiness.”

She’s humming something under her breath and I don’t even realize I’m kind of smiling until she turns and catches me.

“What?” she asks, playfully suspicious.

“Nothing,” I say.

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify