Elijah has spent Christmases in Florida at Cocoa Beach ever since the incident on Christmas Eve when he was 17 that led him to despise the holiday with the desire to wipe away all memories and thoughts of the dreadful night 5 years ago. He's an aspi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"SHIT, sorry," I said, after attempting to leave an aisle and nearly ramming into a woman pushing a cart with three tiny children inside. I understood why mothers would put their children in carts, to keep them from wandering around the store and being restless. But also, the cart was supposed to be used for groceries, and I couldn't help but wonder how she was meant to get any real shopping done with three entire children taking up the entirety of the cart.
"Watch where you're going, and don't say those things in front of my children!" the mother exclaimed, glaring at me in possibly the coldest way I'd ever been glared at. Worse than Charlie's ever present icy glare. And that was saying something.
"My apologies, ma'am," I muttered before slipping away, into the aisle I was possibly supposed to be down. Possibly, because I didn't know how to navigate my way through a grocery store. It's like all the aisles were labeled, supposedly for your convenience, yet I couldn't find jack shit of what I was looking for. I just needed the last few items on the list.
"My apologies, ma'am." Charlie dipped into the aisle, walking beside me now, carrying already checked out bags of groceries. "Such a kiss ass."
"I'm not a kiss ass, I'm just polite," I retorted. "It's called common decency. When you almost ran into a woman's trio of children, you apologize."
"No, you collect extra points. Ten for each child," she joked. "What do you have left? You're so slow. Who never taught you how to grocery shop? Here."
She didn't give me any time to talk, just grabbed my phone to see what I needed to get. Charlie informed me that I was, in fact, in the absolute incorrect aisle. So she led me to the opposite side of the store and we got everything else needed to make ... whatever she was making. I couldn't possibly comprehend how she was just aimlessly grabbing ingredients, spices, and groceries without having looked up any recipes. If I ever wanted to cook something, I would have needed hours to find a recipe online, and hours on top of that to find the right ingredients through the grocery store. For Charlie, she sifted through the ingredients, sauntered down each aisle with purpose, and knew exactly what she needed and where to get it. I guess it made sense; River said she was a chef.
River sent an address to the house on the beach where the party was being thrown. When we got there, dozens of grocery bags looped on our arms, Charlie and I finally saw just what we were in for: a modern beach house connected to the bigger portion of Cocoa Beach, all-white with black trim, walls that were mostly glass, and a shit ton of space.
"Only five billion square feet," Charlie muttered as we approached the doors. "Fucking fantastic."
There was a buzzer at the door that Charlie reached out and pressed. It made a loud noise before switching to an intercom where a voice announced, "Please identify yourself!" in a loud, feminine voice.
