Page 57 of I Think He Knows
Then, as she turns to walk towards the Outdoors section, I grab her from behind. My arms wrap around her petite body, holding her close as I pick her up… and dump her onto the cart.
I start jogging. “Hold on!” I call as I race towards the camping equipment.
Lana squeals. “Stop, you big oaf!”
But she’s laughing her head off. We both are as we blast through the aisles like over-sugared kids, me swerving and weaving the cart around displays while she holds on for dear life. A tinny version of Taylor Swift’s “Paper Rings” starts playing over the store’s speakers, and I could not think of a more perfect soundtrack for this moment as Lana Mae throws her head back and sings along, like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Our fake engagement feels like a paper ring right now—it might not be the real thing, but it doesn’t make this moment with her any less perfect.
We’re both practically crying with laughter by the time we get to the camping aisle, where we find two serious, outdoor-enthusiast types in North Face fleeces and zip-off cargo pants. The two men are examining a propane camping stove like they’re trying to mine it for the secrets of the universe. One of them looks up and gives us an annoyed glance, and Lana snorts her snorty little laugh again, which sets me off.
The fleeces move away and I grin at Lan while offering a hand to help her down from her sprawled position atop the cart. She places her hand in mine, soft and small, and a little zing travels up my arm as I pull her to a seated position. She looks at our intertwined hands for a long moment, hops off the cart neatly, and I let myself hold onto her for just a bit longer than could be considered accidental. Just a touch longer than Ishouldhold on for.
Then, I let go and begin to throw every pink, sparkly, remotely camp-ish looking thing into the cart.
Lana stands behind me with her arms crossed, shaking her head. “You don’t do a lot of camping, huh?”
“Nope,” I answer cheerfully, adding a pink multi-tool pocket knife, a matching pink first aid kit, and a purple hammock to the cart.
“You know that it’s going to be in the school field, right? With access to a medical tent and washrooms?”
“I like to be prepared.” I hold her gaze for a moment, and my stomach drops as a spark of something glimmers between us.
Neither of us notice the designer fleece twins come back into the aisle until one of them says, “Lana Mae?”
We whirl around to face them. The one who spoke is the guy who didn’t look up earlier, but is now staring at us like we’re two pieces of bacteria in a petri dish. Lana, meanwhile, has paled.
“Can we help you?” I ask shortly.
“Thought it was you.” Even though I asked him the question, he’s talking directly to Lana, and he’s now got a smug expression on his face that I don’t like. “We’re shopping for a guys’ camping trip, and I noticed Lana Mae over here and wanted to say hi.” He does this vile little smirk that automatically makes me clench my fists by my side. “I didn’t know you liked the outdoors, Lana. Sleeping under the stars, telling stories around campfires… And speaking of open flames, how’s your hair doing?” Before Lana can say anything, the guy elbows his buddy in the ribs. “Thisis the girl I was telling you about.”
His buddy hoots. “You’re the chick who set herself on fire? Dude! That was the most hilarious story I’ve ever heard. Priceless.”
“I justhadto tell people. It was too good not to share.” The guy is looking at Lana with an insincere smile. She’s smiling back, but it’s strained. And I start to put the puzzle pieces together.
A date where Lana set fire to her hair… Which is, admittedly, hilarious in its own right, and we did laugh about it together.
But the way this guy is smirking at her. Like she’sbeneathhim or something. It’s enough to make my blood boil.
And then, the guy takes one long look down Lana’s body and says, “I’ve been keeping an eye out for you, but it doesn’t look like you made an appointment at my clinic yet.”
What?
I step close to Lana Mae and put a possessive arm around her shoulder. The dude looks at me like he’s really seeing me for the first time. He does a double take when he recognizes me, but manages to cover his surprise pretty swiftly.
“I’m Braxton.” He sticks out a hand, which I ignore, and instead pull Lana Mae into my side.
“And what clinic is this?” I say so coldly, there’s a noticeable chill in the air around us.
“I’m the resident doctor at a medical aesthetics clinic.” Braxton actually looksproudof this. “Lana Mae was interested in having a consultation for some ‘mom-bod’ skin tightening treatments—”
“My wife is perfect just the way she is, thank you very much,” I snap, cutting him off. “She isn’t interested in anything of the sort.”
Beside me, Lana audibly sucks in a breath. But I just tighten my arm around her shoulder and glare at Dr. Moron. Did Lana really go on a date with this jerk?
“You should write a book about dating disasters,” his buddy continues, oblivious to the growing tension in Aisle 19. But he blinks when he registers my last words. “Wait… your wife?”
Braxton, too, is frowning, obviously confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m following.” He points between us. “You two are married?”