Chapter 11
ELEVEN
While I pushed the cart down the produce aisle of our local grocery store and Jake pleaded, “Go faster, Daddy, please, please, please,” from his seat within said cart, Aoife dumped an obscene number of carrots beside him.
They were the fancy organic kind, much like everything in this place.
It was all wicker baskets and expensive cheese and deli meats.
I couldn’t complain—the darker environment, with its softer lighting, made Aoife’s hair gleam and turned her into one of my walking fantasies.
Watching her was always one of my favorite pastimes.
Until I saw what she had in her hand.
I froze in outright horror at the bag of loose greens she tossed on top of the organic, grown-in-special-shit carrots. “God, you’re not making carrot and cilantro soup again, are you?”
“Because you asked extra nicely, I’ll make sure there’s enough for you.”
“Cilantro is the devil’s herb.” I gagged.
“Says you. I love it. So do most of your family.”
“It speaks of my love for you that I’m willing to kiss you after you consume it.”
She snorted. “You’re so melodramatic. We both know you’ll do anything for a kiss.”
“Do you hate it when I drink vodka?”
“Thank God the Irish in you won’t let you drink it all that often.” She bobbed her head double-time. “Vile stuff. And no, actually, soup hater—”
“Don’t pout. I eat all the other soups you put in front of me.”
“You’re oddly critical about my soups.” Her pout became more defined.
“Well, you know I can—”
“Yes, yes. Only eat it with my bread.”
“What can I say? I have standards.”
A smile danced over her mouth, making the corners of her eyes crinkle, and after checking that Jake was occupied with his cartoon and the toy dinosaurs he’d brought with us, seeing as I refused to treat the cart like a McLaren F1 car, I quickly leaned down and kissed her.
Because her lips parted, I accepted the invitation and thrust my tongue against hers.
The soft moan she released had me stepping closer so I could slide my arms around her waist.
Her softness, as always, welcomed me home. I took a moment to indulge in her curves, then I teased her by nipping her bottom lip before laving it with my tongue.
When she hummed in delight, I tightened my hold around her as I—
“Excuse me! This is a grocery store. That cannot be sanitary.”
Tension filled Aoife at the criticism, but I didn’t let it bother me. I finished the kiss… slowly, softly. Just long enough to hear a disgusted huff.
Straightening and taking note of Aoife’s bright red cheeks, I narrowed my eyes at the other woman who stood there, glued in place like she couldn’t have easily walked past us, toe tapping against the floor.
Some people have to choose drama every time.
“If you haven’t been kissed since the Reagan administration, just say so, ma’am.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“No need to beg. I pardon you. Willingly. If you’ll stop being the Grinch—that’s the green, furry guy you see everywhere this time of the year—I can practice forgiveness.”
“The nerve of—”
“I have plenty of nerve.” I shot her my most charming smile.
“But they’re being worn thin by you. Now, you didn’t have to interrupt an intimate moment between husband and wife.
You didn’t have to step outside today and choose to be a cunt, but here we are.
” She blanched. “So, you toddle off to whatever cave you came from, and I’ll let you without bringing down the manager. ”
“I’m the one who’ll visit the manager, young man!”
“Please do.”
With a huff, the woman spun on her heel and stalked off. Her cane clacked with every step she took as she abandoned her cart in the center of the aisle.
Aoife burst out, “But—”
I lifted a hand. “No, Aoife.”
Her lips pursed. “You do know she was wearing Chanel shoes?”
“Do I look like I give a damn?”
“She hardly came from a cave, Finn.”
I shrugged. “Don’t be classist, Aoife.”
She stuck out her tongue. “You know she’s old if she calls you ‘young man.’”
“Well, that’s nice!”
Her grin made an appearance. “I can’t believe you called her a C-U-N-T!”
“Mommy, what’s a See You En Tee?”
“That’s what you pick up on?” Aoife cried, aghast.
I hooted. “Don’t complain.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Fair enough.”
“It’s just a joke, kiddo,” I told him, just so he’d return to his cartoon.
Curving an arm around those slumped shoulders, I hauled her into me and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This time of the year, love’s what matters most, no?”
“True.” She pulled a face. “We did kiss for quite a while, and I maybe, probably moaned louder than I thought—”
“Not long enough and not loud enough for me. This isn’t 1843, baby. Jesus Christ. From her reaction, you’d think I shoved you onto the fridge and started eating you out!”
Her blush resurged. “Later?”
I snickered. “If my wife wishes.”
She wafted a hand in front of her face, amusement and heat glinting in her eyes. “Right. Shopping. I still have loads to buy. Potatoes and broccoli and—”
“Why didn’t we get this online again? I could kiss you in the kitchen without being accosted by octogenarians who need to get laid.” I tapped my finger on the cart’s handle. “I know a good gigolo service. Maybe that’s what her poor family should buy her for Christmas? I’m sure they do gift cards.”
Aoife, midway through sorting out herbs in a pile, turned to gawk at me. “Why do you know that?”
When she pointed to a bag in a bucket, I hefted the potatoes into the cart then nudged the Karen’s aside when it got in our way. “Think about what my brothers do, Aoife.” Her eyes flared. “Don’t be sexist either.”
“Finn!”
“What? Only women can do sex work and not men?”
Her mouth did a great impression of a puffer fish’s.
“Remember that expression later,” I teased. “Looks like a good time.”
She whacked my Vicuna winter coat with a bunch of what smelled like parsley. “You did not say that!”
“I live to tease.”
She squinted at me. “Why do you know these gigolos?”
“I don’t. I know of them. That’s not my bag. Why are you asking? Is my performance not up to snuff? Here was me thinking an orgasm a day kept the gigolos away—”
“This is what I mean! These two delinquents are disgraceful. Discussing such intimate, private topics in public. I demand you do something about it!”
The squawking drew my attention yet again, and when I glanced over my shoulder and found the old bitch and the discomfited manager, I merely raised a brow.
The man’s eyes darted over to Aoife who, of course, blushed again—redhead’s curse.
Garrett Lewis, the manager, immediately cleared his throat. “Apologies for disturbing—”
“Apologies! I ask you!”
He continued like the woman hadn’t interrupted him. “I’ll deal with this, Mr. O’Grady.”
I slowly dipped my chin.
“Mrs. Vandersand, let me take you to our bistro and we can—”
“Your bistro? What are you talking about, young man?! I want to see these two hooligans thrown out!”
“Ma’am, Mrs. Vandersand, Mrs. O’Grady owns this store.”
The Karen gaped at him. Then me. Then Aoife.
Because my wife was a saint, a literal saint, even if she had just made out that an orgasm a day wasn’t enough, she peppered kindly, “Mrs. Vandersand, why don’t you let Garrett take you to the bistro for a cup of tea to settle your nerves?”
Because the old bitch’s face screwed up like she’d been sucking on lemons, I chose to disengage.
My wife didn’t deserve to hear more of this outdated vitriol. I’d kissed her, not fucked her! I almost wished I had now.
Hell, if Jake weren’t here…
As Mrs. Vandersand sputtered, at a complete loss for words, I pushed the cart away. “I’ll be in to speak with you later, Garrett.”
It took us reaching the second aisle in the store for Aoife to release a wheeze before she bent over and fell into a laugh/giggle combo that was beyond charming.
Because of its utter contagiousness, Jake ignored his dinosaurs and the show he’d been watching on Aoife’s phone and started up too—his childish delight echoing around us.
“The nerve of some people!” Mrs. Vandersand declared, but I barely heard it over the laughter that bubbled around me.
With a wide grin, I half-leaned on the cart and watched my two favorite people laugh themselves silly.
When Aoife began rubbing her stomach, I knew the end of the fit of giggles neared.
“Something funny?”
She whooped. “Don’t get me started again.” Jake bounced in the cart, and she squeezed his cheeks and dotted kisses on them. “Daddy’s hilarious, isn’t he, little man?”
“I think I’m deadly serious,” I countered, pleased by the megawattage of her resulting smile.
“Why don’t I bring you grocery shopping with me usually?”
“Because I prefer to buy stores than produce?”
“That could have something to do with it.” She reached behind me for a packet of stuffing—the kind her mom used and one she imported when I’d bought an upmarket grocery store under Aoife’s umbrella corporation—the first of two in the city. “I can’t believe I didn’t put this on my list.”
“I can’t either. There’d have been a showdown over the table. That’s the only brand Declan and Eoghan will eat since Star won the stuffing war of ’23 using your recipe.”
“I think I willingly forget,” she mused. “Because you all drive me crazy with the reminders. If I have to hear about how Lena’s makes Declan gag one more time, I’ll lose my shi—sh for real.”
“Nice save.”
She eyed Jake, who hadn’t picked up on the swear word and had returned to the annoying cartoon on her phone. “I thought so too.”
“Eoghan will pack that away by himself.” I studied the three packets in the cart dubiously. “You need more than that, babe.”
“How many?”
“Two more. Minimum.” Contemplating historic holiday dinners, I rubbed my chin. “You’ll prepare the loaves the day before?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Nothing beats your loaves, baby. Not even the stuff from the bakery.”
“That’s because I don’t use your mom’s recipe at the bakery.”
My eyes widened. “You don’t?”
Her smile turned sheepish. “That’s your bread. Nobody else’s. I use a tweaked variation for my customers.”
I growled, “You’re lucky we’re in public or I’d ruin you right now.”
“Already tried that once, mister.” Her delighted laughter echoed down the aisle. “Look where that got us.”
When I tumbled her into my arms, her laughter followed, so I vowed to show her later what her revelation did to me. “Is that a complaint, Mrs. O’Grady?”
“Not at all.” She smirked. “That bread won you over—”
“Nah, baby, you did that by breathing.”
Her amusement softened as she trailed the backs of her fingers over my jaw.
I tilted my head for better access and drawled, “Okay, I’ll need one loaf to myself. Minimum. Only Jake can have my recipe. Not my brothers—”
“Finn,” she chided around a giggle.
“—I don’t know what you do to the turkey, but sweet fuck, that, the stuffing, your bread, and some mayo? Heaven. In fact, that’d be my death row meal.”
“A turkey stuffing sandwich would be your death row meal?” she stated, tone dubious as she scanned the deli area for more items on her list and nipped my ass to get me moving.
“No. Your turkey stuffing sandwich on my bread.” I patted my stomach when I saw her peering at the fresh turkeys. “I dedicate an extra hour in the gym in the run-up to the holidays for those alone.”
“You’d think I didn’t feed you on the regular!”
I curved an arm around her waist and hauled her into me again. “You feed me all kinds of sugar. No, I was wrong.” I pressed a softer kiss to her lips. “This’d be my death row meal.”
Her hands pressed against my pecs and she leaned into me. It came as a relief, actually. Aoife still got flustered by PDAs, and that Karen could have ruined it for her.
But, no.
She sighed into my mouth, head arching back as I deepened this kiss. When my tongue swept over hers, her fingers clutched at me and she broke away to breathe, “I just remembered why I can’t take you grocery shopping.”
“Why’s that?” I pressed soft pecks to her cheeks and forehead and wherever else I could reach.
Aoife snuggled into me. “Because you’re a menace.”
“I live to menace.”
“That isn’t even a verb.”
“You can check it out in the dictionary later.” I nuzzled my nose into her temple, where the scent of her was sweet and clean and just Aoife.
Fuck, I loved her.
Some days, it felt like it exploded out of me.
I closed my eyes, just appreciating the moment, the intimacy in a fully public space. She relaxed into me, arms around my waist in a total hug that neither of us wanted to end.
Not even when Jake began shrieking.
Still, I tipped my head and saw why my kid was shouting—Garrett Lewis hovered at the end of the aisle beside a fancy basket of cookies.
A soft smile curved his lips, not in disapproval or embarrassment, more like understanding. When I’d looked into his background for the management role, I’d learned that not only was one of his kids a professional hockey player who played for our team, but he’d been married for thirty years.
With a soft squeeze, I released Aoife. “Everything okay, Garrett?”
He nodded but directed his answer at Aoife—smart man. She was his boss, after all. “Mrs. Vandersand might not be returning to the store, Mrs. O’Grady.”
Aoife hitched a shoulder. “I doubt she’ll be gone long. Did you see what was in her cart?”
“No, what?” I asked because Garrett looked as clueless as me.
She beamed at us. “Three of the extra-large packs of my brownies.”
Slowly, I drawled, “And our nearest bakery is across the neighborhood.” Proudly, I grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Creating addicts, one brownie at a time, darling.”
“I know I’m one,” Garrett admitted.
“Precisely.” Her smile, as always, remained kind, but I saw the shark there. A shark that I’d help create—fuck, she was hot in business mode. “Now, I have shopping to do. I’ll see you around, Garrett.”
He said his farewells and drifted off as quietly as he’d shown up.
I turned to her with an arched brow. “Those brownies will win our family the White House.”
She patted my shoulder and smiled.
But that smile?
Told me she agreed. She was just too modest to say so.