It Had to Be You Georgia Clark (bookstand for reading txt) 📖

snatched out of her hands by a salty grandmother in a T-shirt reading Not Your Bitch! Savannah waded through the crowds, finally procuring everything on her list… only to join another impossibly long line that snaked up and down all the aisles she’d just combed through. The heavily tattooed girl in front of her was simply shopping as she waited, tossing groceries into her basket as the line shuffled forward. That would’ve saved me half an hour.

“All in one bag?” asked the unnaturally jolly employee.

Savannah nodded. She did not need wasted paper on her conscience. But as soon as she had stepped off the shuttle and taken the first of approximately one thousand steps home—centrally located, her apartment was not—the bag handle ripped clean off. Like the contents of a popped piñata, groceries bounced over the sidewalk and onto the street, where all three pink plucked chickens were unceremoniously crushed by the departing Clydesdale. A genderqueer hipster stopped to take a Polaroid of the massacred birds. They did not offer to help.

Savannah carried everything that hadn’t touched the sidewalk in the remnants of the busted bag. Her arms ached. Her feet throbbed (why had she worn heeled sandals? Stupid!). Two blocks from the loft, a wild summer storm her weather app hadn’t predicted unleashed. By the time she limped back into the apartment, she was soaked and sore and on the brink of tears. The only thing that stopped her was seeing, miraculously, that all three roommates were home at the same time. A sign! Yuli, Arj, and Leonie were slumped on the two beat-up sofas in the common space, scrolling through their phones in companionable silence. She didn’t even wait for them to inquire as to her groceries, before announcing her intention. Fried chicken for all. “Which I’ll have to buy again, somehow,” she added, trying not to sound pissed. “But I will, and it’s happening. Dinner. Eight sharp.”

Arj didn’t look up from his phone. “I’m working.”

Cool Leonie examined a new Pikachu tattoo. “I have a date.”

“I’m a vegan,” Yuli informed her, eyes darting around the groceries. “You’re not planning on using my Pyrex, are you?” He dribbled a nervous laugh. “Not, like, cool.”

It was too much.

New York was exhausting and demanding and expensive, and for what? A poky little room in a noisy loft populated by people who didn’t give two shits about her. Savannah wanted so badly to walk into her family home, scoop up the dog, and eat ice cream on the couch. But she couldn’t. She was stuck in Bushwick. With Leonie and Arj and Yuli, who was still listing the kitchen utensils she couldn’t use to make dinner for everyone.

Savannah slipped off her sandals and walked into her bedroom. She picked up her pillow, buried her face in it, and screamed.

35

The Gowanus Whole Foods was so sparsely populated it was positively relaxing: Liv knew it was a good idea to go as late as possible to skip the dinner-rush crowd. She picked up a pineapple and studied it thoughtfully. She loved pineapple, as did Benny, but preparing it was such a chore. So much peeling and slicing and removal of spiky bits. Was the hard work worth the reward? The skin was yellowish but also greenish. Was it even ripe? She took a sniff. Smelled like… pineapple.

“Hi.” Sam Woods stood a few feet away. A snappy little zing, like a wave of unexpected citrus, zipped around her chest.

“Oh, hi.” She repressed the instinct to hug him, instead offering a small wave. She wasn’t expecting to see him in person until the Fitzpatrick-Maple wedding next month. A mental scan of her outfit confirmed a slouchy jersey jumpsuit and old yellow sneakers. Possibly hairy armpits. Definitely no makeup. Could be better but had been worse. The days of leaving the house in her bathrobe were thankfully in the rearview mirror.

Sam was in a ’Shwick Chick T-shirt and broken-in blue jeans. A shopping basket swung from his forearm. His biceps bulged modestly. The chef nodded at the pineapple. “Looks like you’re making a momentous decision.”

“I can’t tell if it’s ripe.”

He tugged at one of the spiky leaves. It didn’t budge. “Nope.” He selected another one. This time, the leaf came off easily. “That’s how you can tell.”

“So wise.” Liv put the pineapple she assumed she was now purchasing into her basket. “What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?”

Sam selected a cantaloupe. “This should feel heavier than it looks.” He weighed it in his palm. “And it should smell sweet.” Raising it to his nose, he sniffed. “I’d say this one is pretty much perfect.”

She took it. Not because she was planning on making a fruit salad, although that was clearly how this shopping expedition was going to turn out. Because of those kind, crinkly eyes that seemed, for some strange reason, to like what they saw. “How about some cherries? I love cherries.”

“Hm, they’re not quite at their peak yet. But I’ll keep an eye out.” He selected a few organic apples for his basket. “How’s Big Ben?”

“Good. At my mother’s tonight, getting spoiled rotten in between anecdotes about the Holocaust. How’s Dottie?” Liv asked, more surprised than pleased that she’d remembered Sam’s daughter’s name.

“Great. Very into Peppa Pig. With her mom this weekend.”

“That must be tough.” Liv had ruminated on what would’ve happened if Eliot had recovered. She had no idea if they’d have gotten a divorce or tried to figure it out.

“At least we’re still friendly.” Sam grabbed a knob of garlic. Bits of papery white skin floated to the floor. “I’ve known couples where it got really ugly. Then it’s really hard on the kids. Claudia—that’s my ex—we still do Christmas and birthdays and school stuff together.”

“How mature.” A word that probably would not have been applied to a separation from Eliot. Her gorgeous, gregarious husband had been funny and frank and always the first on the dance floor. But he was also irresponsible, unreliable, and self-centered. A