No Story to Tell by K. J. Steele Page B

realized Elliot’s offer of a ride home had included a stop by his house to pick up camera equipment, but the prospect of seeing his life up close, as well as spending even more time in his company, was not an unpleasant one. What was unpleasant was the knowledge that Bobby was sure to find out what she’d been up to, and his reaction was bound to be less than pleasurable. She pushed the thought aside and took a deep breath, determined to enjoy the moment.
    Elliot had picked up groceries in town, the three bags reclining on the floor between them emblazoned with Lucky Dollar in a stark, black-and-white lie. There were only three grocery stores within a two-hour drive of Hinckly, and Mr. Graves owned them all. The largest of these was the Lucky Dollar, a tight-fisted business that offered a hodgepodge of sundry items, everything eternally on sale and everything infernally overpriced. The only dollars to be considered lucky were the many that filled the cash register of Mr. Graves, who daily practiced his swindling techniques and, by all accounts, had become quite skilled.
    As the truck rumbled along, the plastic bags shimmied down like loose knee socks, revealing a cosmopolitan mix of packages. Some contained standard household staples, but others she recognized only vaguely from cookbook pictures. Still others she could only guess at: bok choy, capers, cherrystone clams, tapioca, some mutated form of mushrooms, a tiny bag of dried leaves. Victoria picked up the bag of leaves and turned it over to read the label. Tarragon. She looked at Elliot then quickly back to the groceries, as if trying to connect the two. Elliot, catching her glance, misread the question in her eyes.
    “You like tarragon? I have the best recipe for tarragon chicken. Practically had to beg it from a friend of mine back East. Would you like to try it? I can give it to you if you want.”
    Victoria nodded and smiled at his enthusiasm. “Sure, sounds good.” She’d never met a man before who cooked anything that didn’t start with a can opener and end in a pot.
    “Remind me when we get out to the house, okay? You have to be open to trying new things, though. There’s a few unusual combinations, but it tastes great. I promise. You like trying new recipes?”
    “Uh-huh. I try making a lot of different things. I’d get bored just making the same stuff over and over like some people do.” She smiled her lie at him convincingly. She’d get the recipe, but she knew already she’d never make it. Bobby liked his talk easy, his life simple, his food plain, and he bore a cast-iron resistance to change that was as impervious as the granite cliffs that formed the valley.
    “You’ll have to plan ahead when you want to make it, though. Some of the ingredients have to be ordered in special, and Mr. Graves likes at least two weeks’ notice.”
    “Oh. I was wondering about that. I don’t think I’ve seen half this stuff in the store before.”
    Elliot rolled an easy laugh through the truck, running his hair back from his face with long fingers.
    “No, I wouldn’t think so. Most people around here seem to be pretty much meat-and-potato types, but that’s okay. Mr. Graves is more than happy to order things in for me. Makes sure it’s worth his while, though, I’ll tell you that! I don’t know how people afford to buy groceries for whole families here. I find it way more expensive than in the city.”
    “Well, I guess maybe that’s why they just stick to meat and potatoes. Doesn’t it make you mad?”
    Elliot looked at her with the trace of a frown. “Well, yes actually it does. I personally think it should be against the law to have such a boring diet as that.”
    “Oh. Well, that’s not what I—” Too late she saw the sparkle playing in his eyes and realized he’d been teasing her. “Very funny. What I meant was, doesn’t it make you mad that he rips you off like that? I hate shopping there. He jacks his prices up so high I always get this