Waking Up to Love by Evan Purcell Page A

There was a little alligator logo on the covers, which meant that the food company spent a percentage of its profits protecting the Florida wetland.
    Or something.
    Ramona never bothered reading the description, but she knew it was good for the environment. She also knew these snacks would be good for Debra’s recovery. They weren’t exactly what she had written on the shopping list, but they also weren’t jam-packed with butter and high-fructose corn syrup, either. Ramona tasked herself with making sure Debra ate right, even if that meant a few moments of grocery-unpacking disappointment.
    Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Three warning buzzes and then her ringtone: the default classical music that came with this model. She’d had the phone for a year and a half, yet she hadn’t bothered to change the music to something she liked.
    Or at least something that didn’t actively make her teeth chatter.
    Her teeth chattered.
    She knew it wasn’t work, because she’d already told Nancy that she’d be running errands all day. Plus, the latest shipment of paperbacks wasn’t expected till Friday.
    No, this wasn’t business. This had to be pleasure.
    She looked at the screen. Scott’s name popped up.
Great,
she thought. Scott McInney, the worst kind of pleasure.
    “Hello?”
    “Whatcha doing?” Scott asked. God, he knew she hated that.
    For a second, Ramona wondered if she should lie about shopping. If he knew where she was, he’d probably make a couple of requests too, probably of the butter and high-fructose corn syrup variety.
    Then she realized that was stupid. She was a grown woman; she could always tell him no.
    “I’m at the supermarket,” she said. “Your mom needed some supplies.”
    “You should get her some good, old-fashioned junk food,” he suggested. “It’ll be a nice change of pace from, well, from getting nutrients through an IV.”
    “No junk food.” Ramona needed to put her foot down then and there. If not, then this would quickly escalate into a high-stakes negotiation.
I’ll trade you the soy milk for the boxed mac and cheese, but only if you upgrade the fat-free cream cheese to reduced-fat and jalapeno-flavored.
    “Come on,” Scott bargained. “Just one box of—”
    “Nope.” Suddenly, she was reminded of the hours they spend in their treehouse as kids. He’d always steal her Barbies, just so they could play Hostage Negotiator. It was fun, even if things didn’t always end so well for Barbie.
    “You know, a little junk food can be good for her.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “It is! Happy taste buds equal happy lives. Haven’t you ever heard that saying?”
    “I’m pretty sure you just made that up.”
    “Yeah. I did.”
    “Okay. Fine,” she gave in. “We can get her one thing from the bad list. What would you say is her favorite?”
    Without thinking, he said, “Those maple cookies. The ones with the Amish lady on the front.”
    Ramona was standing in the crackers aisle, so she could clearly see the cookies he was talking about. She also knew that the mascot was just a regular, old, non-Amish grandmother, but she wasn’t going to start another argument.
    She placed her hand on the box, but then pulled away. Scott wasn’t even in the same room as her, yet he was still calling the shots. If she was going to remain sane for the next week or so, she needed to reassert herself.
    “I just grabbed one box,” she lied.
    Scott paused for a few seconds. “No, you didn’t,” he said.
    “What?”
    “You didn’t grab any cookies. Come on. They’re right by your elbow.”
    Ramona spun around. Yup, there he was, casually leaning against a rack of discount tortillas. He had a phone in one hand and barbecue ranch potato chips in the other. He always ate such disgusting snacks. It was a real testament to his outdoorsy lifestyle that he could keep in such good shape.
    He clicked off his phone.
    “You were spying on me,” she said. Not a question.
    “A little.” He