Apples or oranges would have been okay, if she'd left it at that, but she didn't. Nowhere close. Logan's expression edged toward indignant as she rattled off her list. Ketchup? Ketchup and apples?

"What the hell are you making, Christmas freakin' dinner?" He tucked his beer in the crook of his arm and scanned the shelves.

No, that wasn't going to work. He set the beer on the shelf and stacked what he could find: two baskets of apples, a basket of oranges, two bags of sugar, three kinds of juice, and ketchup, all in a precarious heap, with the beer lying carefully on top. His flashlight was pointed somewhere he couldn't really see - he was peering over the side of his beer. "Didn't see any yeast," he said. "You're getting the door."