Something hilarious was always a good thing. Laughter was important. So she bought the game, not sure what exactly she was going to do with it.

She walked toward the Italian market where she did most of her shopping. The clouds were breaking, the sun trying to shine through. She filled her lungs with fresh air. Then she blinked. Ahead of her, walking toward her, was Marc.

Was it really him? She kept walking. Yep.

He spotted her too and smiled. They stopped on the sidewalk, right in front of Moretti’s.

“What are you doing here?” She tipped her head to one side.

“Just walking.”

“Cool. You can come shopping with me. I’ll be able to carry more with you here to help.”

“Sure. I can be your pack mule.”

She laughed and wrinkled her nose. “Come on.” She pushed into the store and grabbed a cart, which Marc immediately took control of. She gave him a raised-eyebrow look but started toward the bakery.

“Lovey!” Mr. Moretti was just loading fresh buns into a big bin. “Hello, beautiful. Nice to see you.”

“Hi, Mr. Moretti. How are you?”

“Good, good.” He frowned. “Are you actually going to buy bread today?”

She grinned. “I am. I’m making lasagna tonight for two big guys and I think they’ll want garlic buns.” She turned to Marc. “Marc, this is Mr. Moretti, who owns the store. Marc’s my brother’s roommate,” she added. “It’s them I’m cooking dinner for.”

“Ah.” Mr. Moretti gave Marc an appraising look. “Nice to meet you, Marc.”

“Likewise.”

“Here, these ciabatta are fresh,” Mr. Moretti said. “How many you want? A dozen?”

“Eeek, no. Maybe…six.” They were pretty big.

Mr. Moretti used a square of wax paper to lift the buns into a paper bag. “There you go. What else?”

“I need all the ingredients for the lasagna. And a few of my usual things.”

“Pasta is down this aisle.” He gestured. “Well, you know your way around the store. Call if you need help.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at the older man in his big white apron.

“How the hell do you know him?” Marc muttered as he followed her down the aisle.

“I shop here all the time.”

“You’ve only been in Chicago a few weeks.”

“Well, yeah.”

“He was giving me the look. Like, making sure I’m good enough for you.”

She laughed. “No, he wasn’t.”

“He totally was.” Marc shook his head.

She ignored him and chose pasta, tomatoes, tomato paste, then headed for the dairy section to select ricotta and mozzarella cheeses. She picked up some yogurt since they were almost out. “What kind do you like?” she asked Marc.

“Any kind.”

“Okay. Now I need some ground beef for the meat sauce.”

“Oh thank God. I was afraid this was going to be a vegetarian lasagna.”

“I do make a really good vegetarian lasagna. With artichoke hearts and spinach—”

Marc held up a hand. “Please. It has to have meat in it.”

Amusement curled inside her. “Fine. Lots of meat. But we’ll need a salad.”

“Sure. I like salad.”

They chose greens for the salad, as well as some fruit.

“Okay. Done.”

When they went through the checkout, Marc pulled out his wallet. Lovey frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying for this stuff.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Why should you have to pay for all this food? You’re cooking it for us.”

“Well…”

“You’re cooking for us,” he repeated, his eyes steady on hers. “The least I can do is pay for the ingredients.”

“There’s some of my own stuff in there,” she said, a little breathlessly.

He waved a hand. “Whatever. I can afford it.”

“Yes. Yes, you can.” No argument there. Her bank account was dipping alarmingly with the money she’d paid for the apartment, but she could have paid for this herself.

He handed over a credit card and paid, then picked up all the bags.

“Okay, I said you could help. You don’t need to carry everything.”

“Pack mule.” His lips twitched.

“Come on, I can carry a couple.”

“Here.” He handed her two light bags. She shook her head, smiling, and they started walking home.

“How did your meeting go?”

“Okay. Good. I don’t know.” He paused. “I feel better. I think I was respectful. But somebody needs to do something. Dale’s in trouble. I can feel it.”

“Have you talked to Dale?”

“Yeah. I tried. I didn’t get far.”

“If he needs help, then you did the right thing.”

“I hope so. We’re all responsible for how the team does. Him too. We all need to step up and hold each other accountable.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, then Marc said, “Thanks, Lovey.”

“For what?”

“For making it clear to me what I needed to do.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t think anything she’d said really made a difference. Marc was clearly a leader who looked out for not only the team as a whole but for individuals on the team. He would’ve figured out what he needed to do sooner or later. And she didn’t even know if this was the right thing. Why a team keeps losing could be a complicated, multi-layered problem with no easy answers. But solutions start with one small move. Maybe this would be it.

She hated for him to be unhappy. It made her unhappy. She much preferred it when everyone was happy.

“What’s your middle name?” she asked.

He turned and looked at her. “Alexandre. Why?”

“Just making conversation. I love how you say your name, with the French pronunciation. Teach me how to say it.”

“Marc Alexandre Dupuis,” he said.

She tried it and failed miserably. He chuckled. “Marc.” His soft “r” defeated her. She tried again.

“Not bad. Alexandre.” It sounded like Alex-zondruh. So that was what she said. He was still amused. “Just soften that ‘r’ a bit.”

“I can’t. Say your last name.”

“Dupuis.”

There was a subtle difference between his pronunciation and the way everyone else said it. His “u” sounded a little…sharper, and the “p” sounded slightly softer.

“Marc Alexandre Dupuis,” she said.

He was smiling broadly at her now.

“Maybe you can teach me more French.” They turned the corner onto South Prairie, nearly home.

“I speak French but I don’t know if I’m a very good teacher.”

“Don’t judge your teaching skills by my inability to say your name.”

“You say my name just fine.”

That pleased her too. “Do you like dogs?”

He gave his head a shake. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

“Did you have one growing up?”

“Yeah. We had a boxer named Julius.”

“Aw! Julius. Was he cute-ugly?”

Another chuckle. “Cute-ugly?”

“Yeah. You know. Boxers are kind of ugly and sad-looking, but in a cute way.”

He nodded, lips curved up. “Yeah, I guess he was cute-ugly.”

“We—I mean my parents—have a golden retriever. His name is Gordie. I miss him.”

“Gordie? Let me guess. Gordie Howe?”

“Yes! Good guess.” They exchanged smiles as Marc pulled open the door to the condominium lobby. “Would you want to own a dog?”

“Yeah. But how could I right now? I can’t leave a dog for days at a time. Maybe someday. A dog needs a yard too.”

“True.”

In the elevator she sensed the lightness to Marc’s mood, the way his shoulders weren’t all stiff, his mouth relaxed and smiling easily at the stupid things she said. Better. Much better.

“I’ll help you with dinner,” he said inside the condo. He carried the bags into the kitchen and they put things away, leaving out some of the ingredients she’d need.

“Sure. It’s nice to have company in the kitchen. I’ll put some music on.”

Duncan wandered out of his bedroom and she passed him in the hall as she fetched her iPod from her room. “Hey, Dunc. You just getting up?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not healthy, big brother. Your sleep rhythms will be all messed up.” She was totally yanking his chain.

He shook his head, his chestnut hair all standing on end.