Paul pushes a nearly empty cart along an aisle of open freezer bins. And around the other side, going the other way, Ana pushes a fuller cart.
So. Cakes, pies, ice cream, popsicles...
(the dull bottom and lazy guitar of Rupert Holmes’ "Escape" on the grocery store speakers)
...frozen juice concentrate, hmmm...
They both reach for the limeade, and their hands meet. A moment of recognition, and pleasant surprise. A pause on the downbeat. And choreographed or not, the chorus makes them reconsider whether they want daiquiris:
- Do you like...
- Pina?
- Coladas?
They sing out loud to each other: meaningful eye contact, dramatic gestures, fake microphones (sure), pointing (there’s plenty of pointing). Dancing in the aisles.
It’s after ten, and thankfully, nobody notices. Ana shops with a list, and Paul does not.
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