Fascination

She couldn't help it.

So she stared. She stared long and hard, quizzically and almost with a look in her eyes that promised penetration of the clear, plastic wrapping that restrained the meat. In the back of her mind she found herself arguing—this-is-so-stupid against oh-my-god-it-could-be-true and lingering thoughts that still remained along those lines. The longer she stared, extensive and hard, the more impossible it became to keep her thoughts from straying to shameful, dirty, sexy—

Oh gods, what was she doing?

She blinked back the dazed gaze and glanced around her, supermarket goers still mingling and drifting through the aisles indolently, leisurely, like this was their one-stop destination and they just had to take their time on it. And really she had been doing the same until she stumbled across the vile little—well, rather large package.

And instantly her thoughts were once more plagued. It was so highly inappropriate—and honestly, her staring wouldn't get her anywhere. Those stupid meats weren't going to buy themselves and she knew with complete disappointment and a heavy heart that she was never going to test her theory— even if she really, really wanted to.

Some days she wished she hadn't enslaved herself to the honor—more like grudging task—of hosting the virginal Oracle of Delphi. No marriage, no sweet little di Angelo babies (not that she'd admit to wanting just a few), and no love life past a few kisses, well-hidden from annoying sun gods.

All of that given up for the opportunity to be kidnapped and become the virginal mouthpiece of a future-seeing Oracle that couldn't even bother to tell her when di Angelo was going to surprise her with a visit via shadow-travel. A little warning would be nice to avoid the incident that occurred last week, involving ooey-gooey romance novels, elephants, and pink tutus.

Moving on from that, she pushed aside her angst and dismay—she really needed to save her lustful thoughts for when she was painting and maybe she would finally find the inspiration for her next project in realism—and picked up the Italian Sausages and wiggled her way through a Jewish family arguing over just how kosher that meat really was, and it probably wasn't at all.

Arriving at her penthouse with a single bag of groceries—she'd probably have more to carry if she could just cool it on the Chinese takeout—she slipped into the kitchen to restock her already bursting shelves with more of the snack foods that could last her a life time had some of them not been perishable. And there he stood, the lean, handsome, half-Italian demigod himself, whipping up some Italian dish, looking incredibly hot in his kiss-the-chef apron.

"I think the whole house-wife look really works for you."

A/N: Fin. Surprisingly short coming from me, but it's the first time I've ever attempted RachelxNico (that I can remember) and I was inspired in a grocery store and… I ran out of reasoning. So, yeah.