Something Unexpected Read Free Page B

soup.
    The sudden craving for something warm, uncomplicated and comforting gave her a direction, and she headed for Sherm’s Queen Bee, the grocery store on the east end of town. With a population of nearly nineteen hundred people, Honeyford was large enough to support two markets. Sherm’s was the larger, and it stayed open later.
    On her way into the store, Rosemary grabbed a handled basket. The act of shopping distracted her from troubling thoughts. By the time she’d picked up aspirin, tea and orange juice, she felt a bit better. Grabbing a box of saltines from the cracker aisle in case her nausea returned, she started toward canned soups, one aisle over, when she overheard a conversation that managed to make her smile.
    â€œYou do not need to use canned soup to make macaroni and cheese.” The woman’s voice was vehement and vaguely disgusted. “Get a good English Cheddar.”
    â€œCheddar-cheese soup makes it feel more like comfort food, Amanda,” came the man’s much gentler reply. “Trust me. This is the best mac and cheese you’ll ever taste. You’ll feel like you’re ten again.”
    â€œI don’t want to feel ten again….”
    Rosemary laughed to herself. Right there was one of the perks of being single. She used to use cheddar soup to make macaroni and cheese, but Neil had loathed that particular meal, saying it tasted “cheap.” During the first year of their marriage, she’d found a recipe for fettuccini Alfredo and had abandoned her beloved mac and cheese altogether.
    With no need to please anyone but herself tonight, and hungry for the first time all day, she skirted a display of Goldfish crackers and rounded the soup aisle, intent on making a big casserole of creamy pasta tonight. She wanted to thank the gentleman with the macaroni craving for reminding her about this treat and then tell him to grab his own can of soup and run, before he spent the better part of his life acquiescing to someone else’s desires, but, of course, it was none of her beeswax.
    As she entered the aisle, Rosemary couldn’t help but glance at the woman with the firm opinions on cheese and the strongly judgmental tone. Tall enough to partially block Rosemary’s view of the man, the blonde wore black-rimmed glasses, a belted coat, stiletto-heeled leather boots and a perturbed expression. “I’m going to call Beezoli’s and have them make a fettuccini Alfredo to go,” she said as she fished her cell phone from her pocket. “Do you want one?”
    Hiding her grin, Rosemary stepped in front of the couple to reach for the soup. “Excuse me.”
    As she straightened, she angled her body, hoping to take a quick, nosey-bones peek at the man. Good English Cheddar was clearly a gal who got her own way. The poor guy might never enjoy a decent mac and cheese again.
    Sorry, buddy, she told him mentally as she turned, deciding to give him a smile. Believe me, I relate—
    Dear God!
    The can of soup dropped from Rosemary’s hand, clunking onto the hard floor.
    She stared stupidly, frozen as a statue, while Dean Whose-Last-Name-She-Did-Not-Know stared back at her.
    â€œYou dropped something,” the blonde intoned drily, which should have snapped Rosemary out of her stupor, but didn’t.
    Dean, however—as neatly groomed and handsome as he’d been two and a half months ago—dived for the can of soup, rose and handed it back to her, his blue gaze glued to her face.
    â€œHello,” he said.
    She should have recognized his voice right away. Smooth and rich rather than deep, like the best milk chocolate, it had wrapped her in delicious sensation that magical night.
    Rosemary couldn’t answer him. Her mind buzzed with a dozen questions.
    Do you live in Honeyford?
    Does Good English Cheddar live in Honeyford?
    Were you and she together when you and I…?
    Mortified, by the possibility that she had slept with