3
“Don’t you two look
domestic?”
“Huh?” Paul said, halting
his progress down the supermarket aisle.
Over the past month, he’d
effortlessly fallen into the routine of doing the weekly
supermarket shop with Trevor on a Thursday evening. Trevor didn’t
have a car, so it seemed the right thing to offer his services.
Trevor had steadfastly refused to accept any money for putting him
up. Paul had argued, but Trevor had remained resolute. The only
concession Paul could wring out of his five foot seven house-mate
was that he be allowed to pay for the groceries.
“Didn’t think you knew
what the inside of a supermarket looked like,” June said, taking an
interest in the items in Paul and Trevor’s trolley.
“What? How did you think I
ate when I was still living at my place?”
“Takeaways.” June’s gaze
locked on a box of fish fingers.
“Paul’s a great cook. He
made us a delicious beef casserole the other night,” Trevor said,