Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
TESSA
Ipush the shopping cart down the produce aisle, my mind somewhere it shouldn’t be.
Logan.
I’ve been thinking about him since yesterday. Since he walked into the coffee shop with his friends and asked me to surprise him with a drink. Since he smiled at me like he truly saw me.
It’s ridiculous. I barely know him. He’s just a customer. A hockey player who probably has a dozen women throwing themselves at him every night. There’s no reason for me to be thinking about him at all.
Yet I am.
I’m thinking about the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned. The way his voice dropped when he said my name. The way something in my chest loosened, just for a moment, when he was near.
I hate it.
I hate that I can’t stop the thoughts because, truth be told, they’re dangerous.
I stop in front of the tomatoes and reach for one, turning it over in my hand. Preston asked me to pick up ingredients for pasta tonight. He’s particular about his tomatoes. They have to be firm but not too firm, red but not overripe. I’ve learned exactly what he likes.
I grab three that look perfect and set them in the cart.
“Excuse me?”
I startle and turn to find a man standing beside me. He’s maybe in his forties, wearing jeans and a faded Michigan State sweatshirt. He looks tired but friendly.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Sorry to bother you,” he says, gesturing at the tomatoes. “But how do you know which ones are good? I don’t want to pick out the wrong ones and have my wife give me grief about it.” He laughs, the kind of self-deprecating laugh that says he’s definitely picked out the wrong tomatoes before.
I relax slightly and give him a small smile. “Um, you want them to be firm but give a little when you press on them. Like this.” I pick one up and gently squeeze it. “See? Not rock hard, but not mushy either. And make sure there’s no bruising or soft spots.”
He nods, studying the tomato in my hand. “Okay, firm but not too firm. Got it. What about the color?”
“Bright red is usually best. If they’re too pale, they’re not ripe yet. If they’re too dark or have wrinkles, they’re overripe.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” he says, grabbing a few tomatoes and inspecting them carefully. “My wife usually does the shopping, but she’s been working late, and I’m trying to pull my weight. Cooking dinner and everything.”
“That’s nice of you,” I say.
“Yeah, well, she deserves it.” He drops a few good ones into his cart. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.”
He walks off, and I turn back to my cart, reaching for the handle.
That’s when I see him.
Preston.
He’s standing at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, jaw tight. He wasn’t supposed to come in. He said he’d wait in the car because he had a business call. But there he is, staring at me with that look I’ve come to dread.
My stomach drops.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile as I push the cart toward him. “I thought you were on a call.”
“I was.” His voice is flat. “Then I wasn’t. Thought I’d come in and help. Looks like my timing was inconvenient for you.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask even though I already know.
“Talking to that guy.”
My heart races. “He just asked me about tomatoes. That’s it.”
Preston doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at me. “You were smiling at him.”
“He asked me a question. I was being polite.”
“You don’t smile at me like that.”
“Preston—”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know,” I say quickly. “Some random guy. He didn’t know how to choose ripe tomatoes, and I helped him. That’s all.”
He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then why were you standing there so long? Talking and laughing like you’ve known him for years?”
“I wasn’t laughing,” I protest. “He made a joke about his wife, and I smiled. That’s it.”
Preston reaches out and grasps my wrist, the same one he grabbed earlier this week. The bruise is still there, faint but visible, and his fingers wrap around it like he knows exactly where to press.
“You think I’m stupid, Tessa?” His voice is low, calm, but there’s an edge to it that makes my skin crawl.
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think that.”
“Then don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.” My voice cracks. “I swear, Preston. He just asked me about tomatoes. That’s all.”
He squeezes harder, his thumb digging into the bruise. I bite down on my lip to keep from gasping.
“I don’t like it when you talk to other men,” he says. “You know that.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, his grip tightening until I can feel my pulse pounding against his fingers.
Then, just as suddenly as he grabbed me, he lets go.
“Good,” he says, his expression softening. “I’m just looking out for you, babe. You’re too trusting. You don’t see the way men look at you.”
I cradle my wrist against my chest, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “I know.”
“I love you,” he says, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just don’t want anyone taking advantage of you.”
“I know,” I say again because it’s the only thing I can say.
“Good girl.” He leans in and kisses my forehead, his touch gentle now. “Let’s finish shopping. I’m starving.”
He takes the cart from me and starts pushing it down the aisle, acting like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just grab me in the middle of a grocery store, causing the bruise on my wrist to throb with every beat of my heart.
I follow him, my hands shaking as I shove them into my jacket pockets.
I should leave him.
I know I should.
As I watch him pick up a box of pasta and examine the label, all I can think about is what would happen if I did.
Where would I go? How would I survive? He’d come looking for me.
I know he would. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, wondering when he’ll show up.
He’d kill me. There’s no doubt in my mind.
At least when I’m with him, I know what to expect. There are no surprises.
I hate that this is my life.
I hate that I’m too scared to change it.
But most of all, I hate that even now, with my wrist throbbing and my heart racing with fear, a tiny part of me is still thinking about Logan.
Still wishing I were brave enough to want something better.
Preston tosses the box of pasta into the cart and turns back toward me. “Baby, you look tired. Did you have a long day at work?” He steps closer, brushing a piece of my hair behind my ear like we’re the picture of normal.
I give him a small smile and a shake of my head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Are you behind with school? I told you working and finishing classes is too much. Have you talked to your employers yet about quitting?”
“I’m not tired, I promise,” I say. “I was just thinking. I haven’t been able to speak to them yet, but I will soon.”
“You need to,” he says, and it’s not a suggestion.
Before I can take a breath, he pulls me into a hug.
My body’s first instinct is to tense, to recoil from the sudden closeness, but I force myself to soften just enough that he won’t notice.
He would notice. He always does. I fold myself into the space he creates and hope it passes for something warm.
He kisses the top of my head. “Do you know how much I love you?”
“Yes.”
“And how much do you love me?” he asks.
“More than words.” I lift my chin and offer a smile that feels too light for the weight in my chest.
“Good.” His arms tighten briefly, satisfied. “You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, right? There’s nowhere I won’t go to find you and protect you and keep you safe. You are everything to me, Tessa.”
“I know.” The words come out thin and unsteady. The tremor in my voice betrays me, but it makes him smile, as if he hears devotion instead of something smaller and lodged deep.
He presses his lips to mine. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper back and meet his kiss with one of my own, careful and measured.
He drapes an arm around my shoulders and steers the cart with the other.
“Come on, let’s get this over with so we can go home.
I want to spend every minute of this evening with you.
Preferably with a little less clothing.” He tugs gently at the drawstring of my hoodie, playful on the surface, but the motion catches against the side of my throat.
It’s supposed to feel flirty. That’s how he means it. But it sits cold, settling under my skin like a warning, tightening there. The part of me that used to find comfort in his attention goes very still.
I grew up with very little attention. Preston’s love bombing at the beginning of our relationship made me feel whole and brought me a level of security I’ve never known. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. After years of sadness, I’d been rewarded with the perfect man. I fell hard and fast for Preston.
It wasn’t until he had his clutches deep into me that I realized his version of love wasn’t a reward at all but a curse. At the same time, I understood that there were much worse things than being alone.