Fifty Shades Darker (book 5)

Chapter 20

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“I’m still mad that you bought SIP, and now I’m mad at you because you’re making me wait.” She purses her lips.

“You are one angry little madam, aren’t you?” I state, knowing she won’t understand the compliment. “You’ll feel better after a good meal.”

“I know what I’ll feel better after.”

“Anastasia Steele, I’m shocked.” I feign outrage and hold my palm against my heart.

“Stop teasing me. You don’t fight fair.” All of a sudden her stance changes. “I could cook something,” she says, “except we’ll have to go shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“For groceries.”

“You have no food here?” For heaven’s sake—no wonder she hasn’t eaten! “Let’s go shopping, then.” I stride to the door of her apartment and open it wide, gesturing for her to exit. This could work in my favor. I just need to find a pharmacy or a convenience store.

“Okay, okay,” she says, and scurries out the door.

As we walk down the street hand in hand, I wonder at how, in her presence, I can run through an entire spectrum of emotion: from angry, to carnal, to fearful, to playful. Before Ana, I was calm and stable, but boy, was my life monotonous. That changed the moment she fell into my office. Being with her is like being inside a storm, my feelings colliding and crashing together, then surging and ebbing away. I hardly know which way is up. Ana’s never dull. I just hope what’s left of my heart can cope.

We walk two blocks to Ernie’s Supermarket. It’s small, and packed with too many people; mostly singles, I think, judging from the contents of their shopping baskets.

I like that idea.

basket and enjoying the view of her ass, all tight and taut in her jeans. I especially like it when she leans over the vegetable counter

Oh, what I’d like to do to that ass.

when I was last in a supermarket? I have no idea. She wants to cook stir-fry because it’s quick. Quick, huh? I smirk and follow her through the store, enjoying how adept she is at choosing her ingredients: a squeeze of a tomato here, the sniff of a pepper there. As we walk to the checkout she asks me about my staff and how long they’ve been with me. Why does she want

I ask her a question of my own. “Why didn’t you have any food in the apartment?”

Her expression clouds. “You

“It was you who left me,” I remind her. If

“I know,” she says, sounding contrite.

I stand in line beside her. There’s a woman in front of us, trying to wrangle two small children, one of whom is

Jesus. How do people do this?

We could have gone out to eat. There are enough restaurants around here. “Do you have anything to drink?” I ask, because after this real-life experience, I’m going to need alcohol.

“Beer, I

“I’ll get some wine.”

I put as much distance as I can between me and the screaming boy, but after a brief look around the store I realize there’s no alcohol or condoms for sale here.

Damn it.

“There’s a

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