She didn’t expect to run into him at 9:42 on a Tuesday night in the bread aisle.
He was reaching for the same loaf of sourdough. She hesitated, he hesitated, and then they both laughed—nervous and a little too loud for the sleepy supermarket.
“I’m not stalking you,” he said, even though they hadn’t spoken in months.
“I’d hope not. If you were, you’re bad at it. I moved last winter.”
“I know,” he said, softer this time. “My dog still pulls toward your old porch.”
That did something strange to her pulse.
They stood there, fingertips inches from the bread. She looked up at him and thought about all the conversations they never finished. How they left things. How she’d pretended it didn’t matter.
“Want to split it?” he asked suddenly. “The loaf.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Not metaphorically. I mean… we each take half. It’s too much for me alone.”
She took the bread and tore it in two.