Made

The grocery store wasn't more than fifteen minutes away. He found a spot close to the front, betting that getting her in quickly would be a good idea. She meandered away from him as soon as they were hit with the AC blast from the front doors. He let her go, figuring that there wasn't too far to wander in the store. The shopping selection could have been better, but in all fairness, he didn't really know what to look for. He walked slowly towards the alcohol section, spotting Laila browsing the spirits. He sighed.

"I haven't got any money," she said as he walked up.

"Well hello to you too."

"I haven't got any money. It was all in my duffle bag."

"What do you want, then?" he asked, looking at the vast shelves in front of them.

She grabbed a large bottle of gin, and placed it in the basket he'd picked up. He scoffed. It wasn't expensive (not that he had reason to care anymore), but it was a lot of alcohol. Laila ignored him and walked away.

He guided her to a checkout lane, smiling broadly at the cashier, who flushed and giggled. Laila rolled her eyes, throwing the food from the basket onto the conveyor belt, and quickly darting away.

He was just about to pay when she came back, tossing a bottle of whiskey on the belt. She glanced over at him, shrugging her shoulders.

"Sorry, but I'm going to have to see some i.d. if that's for you," the cashier said. Laila scowled, reaching in her back pocket to pull out her passport.

He glanced at it as the cashier looked it over, noting the name on it wasn't Laila. He turned the name 'Agne' over in his mind, finding it foreign and impossible. It didn't match the girl next to him at all.

The cashier smiled, handing it back to her. Laila didn't return the gesture, but instead pushed past him to grab the bags. He paid with cash and a wink, smiling to apologize for his rude companion.
He caught up to her at the door, taking the bags from her as she huffed away.

"Your accent doesn't say Bermuda," he said.

"But my passport does."

"Is that your real name?" he asked, nodding to the passport.

"Define real."

"Is that what your parents named you?"

She looked up at him, her cold brown eyes boring into his. "Wouldn't you like to know."

The ride back to the house was uneventful, with Laila's silence countered only by the blaring of the radio. He learned that she liked the Arctic Monkeys, but that was all.

She helped him carry in the groceries, then disappeared into the house for what she called, "recovery". He asked for more detail, but she shot him down easily, calling out "curiosity killed the cat" as she walked up the steps.

He was alone for fifteen blissful minutes after he put the food away, startled out of his devoted attention to the television by a knock on the door. He muted the t.v., wondering if it was another solicitor. There were signs all over the neighborhood that forbade door to door solicitors, but some people still stopped by, taking a gamble on bothering the maids or nannies of homeowners. Some of them got food out of it, and the even luckier ones got jobs. He was partial to only giving money, or just not answering the door at all.
The knock came again, harder, and more of a pounding. He swallowed thickly, but got up to answer the door anyway. He was a substantial guy who knew how to protect himself. There wasn't anything to seriously fear.

Nick stood on the other side of the white door, holding Laila's duffle bag.