Free One Touch of Moondust by Sherryl Woods Page A

finished, she reached for the rest of the paper. Her hand collided with Paul’s. Startled, they both looked up as if they’d made contact with a live electrical wire. “Sorry,” they said simultaneously.
    Gabrielle wondered if all relationships went through cold wars like this, wars that erupted for no apparent reason and sizzled with tension. She opened her mouth to force a confrontation, but Paul’s forbidding expression silenced her. Now wasn’t the time. Instead she got to her feet, took her dishes into the kitchen and washed them. As she was heading back toher room, Paul called to her. She walked to the doorway.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”
    â€œNo problem,” she said. When he turned back to the paper, obviously satisfied that the matter was concluded, she went on down the hall, torn between puzzlement and irritation. The apology had acknowledged the situation, but it certainly hadn’t resolved it. Her own failure to pursue the matter was an indication of how thoroughly out of her element she felt.
    As the morning went on, Paul’s mood didn’t improve, though eventually he did come down the hall to help her move the furniture back into place and sweep up the shards of glass. As they worked they exchanged a minimum of conversation, all of it exceedingly polite. When they’d finished, he pulled on his jacket and headed for the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?” she asked, then remembered it was none of her business. “I just meant in case someone calls.”
    â€œI’m going to get new glass for the window.”
    â€œThen let me give you some money.”
    â€œI broke it. I’ll pay for it.”
    â€œYou broke it on my account.”
    â€œForget it, Gaby. Just sit down and relax. Read the paper or something.”
    â€œWhat about groceries?”
    â€œWhat abut them?”
    â€œShouldn’t we go to the store today? Or would you rather I go alone?”
    He sighed heavily. “Get your coat. We might as well go now.”
    She opened her mouth to remind him that they hadn’t made a list, then clamped it shut again. If they forgot something, they’d get it later. In his present mood Paul was unlikely to want to discuss the relative merits of green beans versus broccoli before he’d even reached the produce section.
    At the store Paul grabbed a shopping cart and steered it deftly through the narrow, crowded aisles to the dairy case on the far side of the store. “We’ll work our way back.”
    â€œBut we should do this last,” she protested.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’ll spoil.”
    â€œNot unless it takes you all afternoon to shop.”
    She glared at him. “Okay. Fine. What do you want?” she said as she grabbed a package of butter and a triangle of Brie. He picked up a block of cheddar cheese and a tub of margarine.
    â€œEggs?” she asked.
    â€œYes.”
    She reached for brown eggs. He shook his head adamantly. “Eggs are supposed to be white.”
    â€œYou don’t eat the shells,” she reminded him. “What’s the difference?”
    â€œIf there’s no difference, then you might as well get the white ones.”
    She picked up a half dozen of each, then stalked off to the cereal section. She had a box of oat bran in her hands when Paul arrived with the cart.
    â€œWhat’s that?” he inquired suspiciously.
    â€œOat bran. It’s good for your cholesterol.”
    â€œI eat cornflakes.”
    â€œCan’t you just try this?”
    â€œI have always eaten cornflakes.”
    Gabrielle threw up her hands in resignation.“Fine. If this is some nostalgic thing for you, we’ll get cornflakes.”
    Suddenly his lips twitched. She felt the first tiny break in the tension.
    â€œI suppose you have a thing about bread, too.” She recalled that the loaf in the refrigerator had once