Chapter 8
SARAH
If he follows me around this store, I will lose my ever-loving shit. My neck burns, and my armpits spew sweat as I slowly push the cart through the produce section.
Slade is at my six, creeping along behind me as if the bins of fruits and veggies can camouflage the big behemoth. I need him to get to shopping.
I scan colorful fruit, looking for the yellow sale signs. Frankie reaches over the edge of the shopping cart and pats the shiny apples.
“C-can we get these?” Ollie holds up a net full of clementines.
I eye the price sign, nod, and he drops them in the cart. I grab a bunch of bananas and a bag of apples, mentally calculating my running total, knowing milk and yogurt are a must.
I replace the coffee beans I’d thrown in back on the end cap and push forward.
“I’ll meet you at the front.” Slade’s low voice pulls me out of my tentative mission.
I breathe in relief as he moves past me toward another part of the store. I stand for a minute with Ollie swinging off the cart like a monkey to gather myself.
Slade pulled his truck into the driveway while I scrounged for any possible excuse for why he didn’t need to take us to the store, silently cursing when I came up empty .
He helped me load the car seats while I inhaled and exhaled, hoping to survive this little shopping adventure with a limited number of questions and my dignity intact. Ten minutes later, Frankie was strapped in the shopping cart with Ollie riding shotgun.
It’s one thing to roam the store with your meal planner, searching for the best deals. It’s entirely another when you have to decide between fresh fruit and a large pack of chicken breast that will last two weeks. The internal battle is bad enough. I don’t need a witness.
I swipe open my phone and tap the app, double-checking the coupons. “Hang on, Ol.”
He plants both feet on the end of the cart, and I push us toward the refrigerated section, needing to make this quick. We wander up and down the aisles, grabbing only the essentials. I spot Slade from a distance and keep moving.
Ollie hops off the cart. “We have to get the sssstuff for my cookies.”
It’s Ollie’s turn to take treats to school. I check my list for the few ingredients we need to make his favorite, and park the cart in the candy section, looking for the Hershey’s Kisses.
I squat, searching the lower shelves.
“Well, hello there.”
A man’s voice catches me off guard, and I peer up to find Griffin smiling at Ollie and Frankie. Rather than his usual suit, he’s in a button-down shirt and jeans, holding a shopping basket.
From my observations, Griffin works around the clock seven days a week, except for an occasional tee time with his son, business acquaintances, or Seth.
I know he’s married and has two grown children—a son and a daughter. Kat mentioned that his son is a piece of work, but I’ve yet to meet either of them.
“Hi.” I stand.
“It’s nice to finally meet these two.” He smiles at Ollie.
“This is Oliver and Frankie,” I say, resting my hands on the cart .
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says.
Ollie only stares, and Griffin’s gaze returns to me.
“It’s a gorgeous day. Do you all have plans?”
Why is it strange to converse with people you practically see and speak to daily? Outside of the confines of the office, it’s awkward. Or maybe it’s just that I’d like to avoid discussing anything related to my personal life and what that currently entails.
One thing I learned long ago is that people immediately formulate a perception of you.
You can be smart, capable, talented, and the most badass of all badasses in any field, but often, it will all go unrecognized if you don’t have the persona to match.
People like neat, organized, and uncomplicated—a nice tidy box they can place you in. It gives them comfort.
My box has a long history of layered duct tape over holes with labels that have been scratched out and replaced.
Now, all the contents have been dumped out and are waiting for my careful examination to determine what remains true.
I’m a little terrified there won’t be much I recognize anymore, and beyond that, I just might need a brand new box.
So, until I get it sorted out, I’d prefer to keep that mess under wraps for my viewing pleasure only.
“We’re grabbing a few groceries, and then we might play outside this afternoon.” I keep it short and general.
He nods, and I see Slade round the corner of the aisle. His cart stops alongside mine as his gaze drifts to Griffin.
I’m not sure what happens exactly, but there’s a shift. It’s like when barometric pressure drops before a storm. You can’t feel it, but you know the atmosphere around you is different.
Griffin’s weight shifts under the pressure of the big guy’s expressionless stare. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe the still silence, and my body temperature climbs again.
“Griffin, this jolly giant is Slade, my. . .neighbor.” It stumbles out of my mouth because that’s what happens when things are weird .
Griffin only nods, his eyes lingering on Slade. I contemplate easing my cart backward and letting whatever is happening continue without me.
“Well, I’ll let you get on with your shopping.” Griffin’s gaze falls to the kids again. “It was nice meeting you.” He dips his chin. “Sarah, I’ll see you at the office.” He turns and walks away.
My eyes travel to the unmoving, massive rock beside me. He stares down the aisle at my boss’s back. “I’ll meet you up front.” His tone is flat and hoarse.
I watch him stop at the chips, tossing a couple of bags in before disappearing around the corner. I have no idea what just happened, but I’m ready to get out of here and go home.
I reach for a bag of Kisses and toss them in the cart, checking it off my list. I hurry down the remaining aisles and duck into the shortest checkout line. Ollie hops off the end, and I attempt to organize the items to place them on the revolving belt.
“Wook, Mama.” Ollie points to a bouquet of balloons with a massive jet floating high above the rest.
“Those are cool, aren’t they?”
Frankie twists in her seat to see, pulling one leg up to give herself a little leverage. I tug the cart forward and place my hand over her to ensure she doesn’t go anywhere.
Ollie stays put, mesmerized by the helium-filled foil. “I want the j-j-jet.”
“Not today, buddy,” I say, reaching for the divider and setting it on the belt. I drop the milk jugs on the conveyor and then the canned items. “Come on, Ol.”
He doesn’t move. “But I n-n-need dat jet.” His little arms rise and fall at his sides as if that balloon is mandatory for us to get home.
“Ollie,” I warn softly, not needing a meltdown today.
Frankie wedges her leg and foot against the cart again and pushes up. I unhook her and place her on my hip as I unload the rest of the items. Heat and moisture begin to build underneath my sweatshirt like a sauna .
“Huh!” Ollie stomps his foot, crosses his arms, and turns his back to me.
“Ollie, come on. Another day, ok?”
He spins back around, his arms spreading wide. “B-but I need dat j-j-jet!” Tears fill his eyes, and I close mine for only a second, needing all sanity to hold strong for just a bit longer.
As I force them back open, Slade’s cart rolls into our lane just behind me.
Of course.
I’d like to squeeze my eyes shut, wiggle my nose, and transport myself to a different place and time.
“Ollie,” I say again as I drop my box of generic tampons and lotion on the belt.
“B-b-but I need it!” he yells, tears spilling over.
Slade stares at Ollie, who’s planted in the middle of the lane, arms curled around himself, and his face scrunched with anger, pointed directly at me.
The cashier scans my phone and begins zipping my items across the scanner. I turn back to Ollie, watching as Slade squats down beside him.
“Hey, partner.”
Ollie hunches his shoulders, his lower lip jutting out further, trying not to cry.
“That’s a cool balloon, huh?” Slade nods, gesturing to the floating aircraft. “Where’s that plane you had earlier?”
Ollie doesn’t move an inch but eventually gives in and pulls his small metal biplane from his pocket.
Slade holds out his large palm, and Ollie hesitantly sets the plane in it.
“ This is a cool plane. Way cooler than that one.” He turns the plane over in his hand, rolling it. “They don’t make many like this anymore. Did you know that?”
Ollie shakes his head .
“They don’t. Want to know why?” Slade holds the plane out between his fingers.
“Having two sets of wings actually slows the plane down, so they started making them with one set of wings. But, these guys are still the best at doing tricks.” He races the plane past Ollie’s face and into a barrel roll.
The corner of Ollie’s mouth lifts. “You g-g-got to do it like dis.”
Slade hands over the plane, and Ollie shows him a loop de loop.
I stand in complete astonishment that the big, growly, tattooed man just talked my kid out of a full emotional stomp-fest and taught him something about one of his favorite things ever.
I wonder what else the broody mechanic has jammed up his flannel sleeves.
He stands, his gaze shifting from Ollie to me. I avert my attention to the cashier ringing up my remaining items. I place Frankie back into the cart and pull my credit card from my wallet.
I insert the card and wait, keeping an eye on Ollie and the man behind me—the one I’m not sure what to make of.
The credit card reader beeps. Declined. I run it again while the cashier waits, organizing Slade’s chips and beer.
The machine beeps again, and my gut rolls into a hard knot and drops to my pelvic floor with the feel of his eyes on me. Shiiiiittt.
The cashier taps something on her screen and turns to me. “Do you want me to try it over here?” She holds out her hand.
I glance at the total and quickly flip through my cash, knowing I don’t have enough.
A burning itch crawls up my neck, most likely along with red splotches, and a bead of sweat rolls down my side.
I pull out the credit card I received in the mail for emergencies only. Right now feels like an emergency.
I insert the card, and in no time, the receipt prints. Thank God. I push my cart to the end of the counter, and Ollie follows. Slade moves down to help load the plastic bags into my cart.
“Ummmm . . . I think I missed these.” The cashier holds my box of tampons in the air. “They got stuck to the side behind his beer.”
And this is how my life goes. Why can’t just one thing be easy ?
“I got it,” Slade tells her, motioning for her to place them in the bag with chips.
He quickly completes his transaction, and we push our carts toward the exit. The rush of cool air from the opening doors feels amazing against my hot skin.
Slade hands me my tampons. “This clearly isn’t your full grocery haul, but I would’ve liked to see you try to get this on the bus, especially with these two.”
I peek at him, and there’s just the slightest tilt to his lips behind that short beard. My anxiety slowly dissipates.
“Ha. You just underestimate me.” I stop the cart at the back of his truck and pull Frankie from it.
Those grass-green eyes move to the corner as he slowly turns his attention to me. He blinks once, twice, but doesn’t move an inch.
My body begins to heat all over again. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but something tells me it’s probably best if I never know.