Vincent's Thanksgiving Date Read Online Free PDF Page A

turned when they were inside the store, both of them frozen amid all the harried-looking shoppers darting back and forth. Vincent expected to be waved away because surely Cory had had enough of his company by now. Vincent would have asked him directly, but being alone among this many people sounded terrifying now that he was witnessing the shopping frenzy, and anyway, Cory seemed no in hurry to leave his side. He gave Vincent a glance before pulling a piece of paper from his pocket with a long list on it.
    “Suggestions on where we should start?” he asked innocently, leaving Vincent to blink a few times in bemused wonder that someone was asking him for help, again . Someone who already knew Vincent was a train wreck and who was probably far more capable than Vincent would ever be. 
    He swallowed. “We could pick a side to start, work our way down every aisle?” It was inefficient, but Vincent didn’t really know how to best bargain ship among aggressive holiday hunter-gatherers.
    As if that was all it took, Cory took off in the suggested direction, and Vincent found himself nudging the cart forward alongside him.
    “So,” Cory began after they’d made it through the fresh fruits and vegetables section, where Vincent had picked out apples for an apple pie he’d impulsively decided to make, and Cory had grabbed onions, potatoes, sweet potatoes, and green beans, and clucked his tongue, understandably, over the prices. He’d stopped to consult his list so Vincent had stopped to look up pies, assuming Cory had forgotten something. Cory did indeed hold up the list for him again, and this time Vincent noticed all the question marks next to each item. Cory was complaining. “I don’t like not knowing details. People telling me they might come, or not telling me if they have allergies. They say they will bring a dish and don’t tell me what it is. It’s impossible.” He wa s a planner. That hadn’t been Vincent’s imagination. But Vincent didn’t get to reflect on it, because Cory tapped the paper.
    “Tell me something.” Cory sounded so serious, Vincent tensed in anticipation of a personal question. “Would you prefer store-bought sourdough rolls or homemade cornbread at your Thanksgiving dinner?”
    There was no right answer, Vincent reminded himself, as his therapist would have told him to. “Store bought is easier,” he answered, to be safe, but that got him a dismissive huff so he had to keep going. “I, I once had cornbread with butter and honey with some chili. I never thought something so simple could taste so good.” He could have said more, but talking about food while being overweight was yet another thing that made him self-conscious. “Though I’ve never had it with turkey. Maybe it wouldn’t go with whatever you have planned. I overthink things. Sorry. I know there is no right answer.”
    Cory leveled another one of those assessing looks at him, then leaned close in order to reach the endcap display at Vincent’s shoulder. He tipped a box of cornmeal into the cart and then smoothly turned so that Vincent could only see part of his face. “I can make some cornbread later if I don’t make any on Thursday,” he remarked, with Vincent staring at him wide-eyed and dry-mouthed. Then he curled his hand around the side of the cart and pulled it along, neatly avoiding everyone but the oblivious or rude. “Who made you cornbread?” Cory flicked his shopping list out with a snap of his wrist.
    “A, a roommate.” Vincent swung his attention between Cory and his phone, while trying to guess how much flour he had at home and then pulling cans of pumpkin pie filling to the cart in a rush. Three was too many, probably. He put one back.
    Cory snorted. “Cornbread with honey was either made by someone’s mama or just for you by someone who knew you had a sweet tooth.”
    “Boyfriend,” Vincent admitted, not quite whispering but not in the mood to shout it down the length of the store either. “And