Since the pantry has pretty much become communal ground, restocking its essentials becomes a shared task. It's more efficient that way. Two can carry a lot more packs of dried grains than a single person could in one trip. That's not to say that the whole ordeal is safe from a significant amount of bickering and getting on each other's nerves though. It's still an unquestionable pain.
"I never noticed how tiny you actually are," he says after he takes a package from her hands. The same package she had been struggling to put on the topmost shelf for what felt like the past twenty minutes. "Must be the attitude, gives you a few inches."
"You would know." She stabs his chest with a finger and rolls her eyes. "Your ego is as inflated as it gets."
"Maybe." Jack hovers over her, an arm bent on the shelf over her head, invading her personal space to accentuate their height difference. The proximity makes his skin tingle in a very thrilling way. "But I actually have the height to back it up," he whispers.
Her crossed arms tickle his torso over a too-thin layer of cotton. Tilting her head, she meets his eyes through her lashes. "Haven't you heard the saying the best perfumes come in small bottles?"
"That's some bougie crap if I've ever heard one," he snorts, slowly pushing himself upright and going back to unpacking the groceries. The back of his neck burns. "I'm a Costco boy through and through."
"I've never been to a Costco before."
"Shut your mouth!" he gasps, spins, and points an accusing finger at her.
"I have a feeling I'm about to be insulted…" she grumbles.
"You've never been to Costco before?" he repeats, still in disbelief.
Elsa shrugs. "Didn't really have that many occasions I needed to buy in bulk for."
"Lady, you haven't lived yet." Shaking his head, he pulls out his phone and starts typing Hiccup a quick message. It doesn't take long for his friend to send back a thumbs-up emoji and then the ellipsis under it appears, but Jack's got his answer so he leaves whatever Hiccup has to add for later. "Alright, it's done. I'm borrowing my buddy's truck and we're going to exposure-treat your classist ass—"
"I'm not classist," Elsa protests with a frown. "I just live alone and don't eat like a damn mammoth."
"Apologies, I'll try to be more accurate with my insults in the future," he mocks. "Anyway. When are you free?"
"We just restocked the pantry."
"I'm sure we can find more things to buy. Like dish soap. Or a canopy tent for the garden."
Her smirk is tentative. "The essentials then?"
"Yup." He smiles as well. "Just what every household across the country needs."