her properly, she kissed me.
I forgot the opening line I had thought was funny.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. I had an argument prepared.”
“About basil?”
“Possibly.”
“You’ll lose.”
Inside, the store looked entirely ordinary. Carts squeaked. Soft music played overhead. A customer stood near the produce section examining two avocados with the solemnity of someone choosing a surgeon.
Sabrina took a basket.
I opened my list.
She questioned the dried herbs immediately.
We compromised on fresh basil, which seemed to involve her getting what she wanted and my accepting
