“Something.”
He didn’t want to tell her, fine. As long as he didn’t turn into the b kurnackseat driver from hell, he could keep his secret. And surprisingly, he was true to his word. He didn’t complain at all about her driving. Not even when she tested him by coming to a rolling stop at a stop sign.
Whole Foods was one of those stores that took great pride in selling natural and organic foods to people who could afford it. The kind of place that had a killer deli and a kick-butt bakery. The kind that Chelsea generally avoided if she was shopping on her own dime.
She grabbed a cart and they hit the beer aisle first. Mark loaded up on local brew. Everything from Red Hook and Pyramid to beers she’d never heard of. He grabbed bags of blue chips and organic salsa. He bought crackers and three kinds of cheese. Prosciutto and thinly sliced salami.
“Do you know how to make nachos?” he asked as they headed toward the milk case.
“No.” There were certain boundaries she didn’t cross with employers. Slaving away in their kitchens was one of them.
“It can’t be that hard.”
“Then you do it.”
“I tried it once.” He shoved a quart of sour cream and a gallon of milk into the cart. “And I burned my hand and couldn’t wear my glove for a week.”
“Poor baby.”
“You can say that again. That burn was pretty much the reason I didn’t win the Art Ross Trophy in 2007.”
“The what trophy?”
“Art Ross. It’s the trophy given to a player who has the most points at the end of the regular season. Sidney Crosby won it that year. Beat me by five points, all on account of nachos.”
She chuckled. “Is that even true?”
He smiled and held up his bad hand like he was a Boy Scout again. He reached for bags of shredded cheese. “It’ll be easy. You won’t even have to grate the cheese.”
“Sorry. Making nachos is above my pay grade.”
He dropped the bags of cheddar into the cart. “What is your pay grade?”
“Why?”
“Just curious about what keeps you coming back every day.”
“My deep and abiding commitment to people in need,” she lied.
He shook his head. “Try again.”
She laughed. “I get paid fifteen bucks an hour.”
“Fifteen bucks an hour to answer e-mails and drive my car? That’s easy money.”
Spoken like a typical pain in the backside. “I have to put up with you and now Derek.”
“Derek’s an eggbeater. You should make human resources give you hazard pay.”
He must not have been told about the bonus. She wondered whether she should tell him. The Chinooks’ organization hadn’t ever told her not to mention it to anyone. She didn’t think it was kt t a secret, but something held her back. “Maybe I will if he ever connects with my shin.”
“First he has to stay on his feet.” He smiled, and it spread to the tiny creases in the corners of his eyes.
“Hello, Mark.”
He looked over his shoulder at the tall woman behind them. His smile fell. “Chrissy.”
“How are you doing?” The woman had platinum-blond hair and turquoise eyes. She was stunning, like a supermodel, but like a lot of models, she wasn’t perfect. Her nose was a little too long. Like Sarah Jessica Parker in The Family Stone. Not the Sarah Jessica of the Sex and the City movie. That Sarah Jess