Chapter 10
Ridge and I continue to fill our cart with ugly Christmas decorations.
And between choosing a homely tree; grabbing lunch at one of the cutest restaurants I’ve ever seen, called The Rusty Anchor; and now this …
I can’t believe I’m going to admit it, but …
I’ve actually been enjoying myself today.
I’m certainly not going to boost Ridge’s ego and tell him that because he’d never let me live it down, but it’s the truth.
And I made it through the tree farm experience without breaking down or kicking the shit out of any innocent trees.
Winning.
“What about these? These are fucking terrible,” Ridge says, holding up a box of brown ornaments. “They look like shit with sparkles dumped on them.”
I laugh, taking them from him and putting them in the cart. “Yep. We’re definitely getting those.”
Something about this—about not decorating the perfect tree just to pretend everything is wonderful—well, it somehow makes me not hate doing it. In fact, I’m kind of liking it. And Ridge and I haven’t even fought. Not once.
Grabbing a Santa hat from the rack, he leans forward and carefully pulls it down onto my head. But instead of moving away after, he hovers, looking down at me.
“Well,” he drawls lowly, “aren’t you cute?”
My cheeks heat, and I fight an awkward giggle.
“Keep it. I like how it looks on you, Fireball.”
He swallows, staring down at me, and I stand here, still as a statue and completely incapable of moving.
My eyes pause on his lips, and for a moment, there are no other sounds in the grocery store. Or at least, I can’t hear them because all I can hear is my heart pounding. But when a loud voice comes through the intercom for a cleanup in aisle eleven, I blink a few times and pull myself together.
Reaching for the top of my head, I tug the hat off, but when I go to step around him to hang it back up, he grabs it from my hand.
“Oh no, you don’t, Fireball.” He tsks me. “If we’re going to make my tree ugly as hell, you’ve got to wear this while we do it.” He tosses it into the cart.
I roll my eyes, but then suddenly, I smirk at him. “Well then, fine, so do you,” I taunt him before grabbing a second one. “If I have to wear an ugly-ass red hat, so do you.”
I expect him to change his mind and say hell no. After all, he certainly doesn’t seem like the type of man who is going to wear a damn Santa hat while decorating a tree with someone who is practically a stranger. But he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he shrugs.
“Well, okay then.” He looks away from me and toward the cart. “That should do it, yeah?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “That creepy lobster on top is really going to be the finishing touch, huh?”
“Uh … duh.” I nod quickly, looking at the lobster with the huge eyes that seem to watch me wherever I go. “That thing may haunt me in my nightmares.”
As we start toward the register, with Ridge pushing the cart beside me, I chew my lip nervously. “Hey, I just have to go grab some socks. I’ll meet you up front?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” He stops the cart, looking down at my feet. “Your sneakers got wet at the tree farm, didn’t they?”
“It’s no big deal; they’ll dry,” I assure him, even though I don’t know why he’d care. “Just gonna grab some socks to get me through the ride home.”
“Come on,” he murmurs, nodding his head for me to follow him.
I trail behind him as he leads us into the part of the store that has shoes. But he doesn’t just stop and tell me to look around. No, he’s on a mission for something specific. And rather than fight it or ask questions, like I do ninety percent of my life, I just let him lead the way.
“You need some of these. The ground’s wet.
You’re always walking around with that damn iPad, falling more in love with land you’ll never get to have.
” He smirks, winking. “These boots are where it’s at, I’m telling you.
” He points down to his own feet, showing me that he has a pair of black ones on.
“I can promise you, my feet aren’t wet.”
I gaze at the display of short rubber boots before I read the tag. “Xtratuf?” I read the name out loud. “Aren’t these for, like … fishing?”
“Nah, we all wear the tall ones when we go to haul,” he says, picking up a pair of the boots and looking them over.
“These ones are called deck boots, but they are for day-to-day shit. And super comfortable and waterproof.” He sets those down before grabbing another.
“These ones are insulated, which would be better for you since it’s going to be cold all week. ”
I frown, scrunching my nose up. “They aren’t that cute, you know.”
“Neither were those high-heeled boots you had on the first day we met,” he retorts, continuing to look through the display. “Yet you put those on.”
He even knows what kind of shoes I had on the first day he saw me.
Taking out a pair of gray ones, I spin them around to look at them. On the backs is a subtle design with blue lobsters. They aren’t the prettiest boots I’ve seen—that’s for sure. But they are also not the ugliest. In fact, every second that passes, they seem to be growing on me.
Grabbing a pair of women’s eights, I sit down on the bench and slide off my wet sneakers when suddenly, Ridge is grabbing a pack of socks and ripping them open to hand me a pair.
Looking from him to the socks, I rear my head back. “Look, you may refer to yourself as Outlaw, but I’m not about breaking the law.” I point to the socks. “And I’m certainly not stealing socks.”
He gives me a judgy look. “I’m going to pay for them up front when I pay for your boots, crazy.” He thrusts the socks into my hands. “Throw your other ones away. They probably smell like ass anyway.”
Reluctantly, I pull off my soaked socks, tossing them into the small trash bin before yanking on the new ones and then the boots. Standing up, I take a few steps, looking down at my feet. “Okay, I’ll admit … they are comfortable.”
When my eyes move back to him, I’m met with a grin. “Told ya.”
Grabbing my sneakers, he puts them into the now-empty box before setting it in the cart.
“Now you won’t have to wear those wet sneakers home,” he says like a true smart-ass, but when I stare at him, surprised, he shrugs.
“Since, you know, they probably smell too. Come on. It’s time to go put our tree up. ”
I’m still absolutely shocked by how sweet this man is being to me. And when we walk toward the register, I’m taken aback even more when he says, “You get in line, and I’ll go grab you some of those disgusting Toaster Strudels.” He pauses. “Strawberry, right?”
For a moment, all I can do is stare because just a few hours ago, he was being an asshole.
But after a second, I nod. “Y-yeah. That’s the one.”
Maybe he’s playing me. Or perhaps he’s doing whatever he can to keep me away from his brothers. I don’t really know why he’s being so kind and thoughtful today. All I know is … I can’t let it cloud my judgment. The reason why I’m here hasn’t changed, even if his temperament has.
Once the last ornament is hung, Ridge plops down on the couch with his dog, Marlin, before admiring our terrible job.
Ridge tugs the Santa hat from his head as he looks at the tree, pleased with what we just did. Me? I stand back and look at our masterpiece, grimacing.
“This is so terrible that I almost feel bad for you,” I say, somewhere between laughing and cringing.
My hat came off about ten minutes ago because my head was damn near sweating.
Ridge gave me shit when I peeled it off, but I couldn’t help it.
“You have this extremely dreadful tree in this beautiful house. It just feels so wrong.”
Ridge’s house is gorgeous. It’s all cathedral ceilings and huge windows. It’s modern with a hint of rustic farmhouse. And it’s immaculate. Which, I learned when we first got here, is because he’s a neat freak, and I can appreciate that because I’m the same way.
It’s not what I imagined his bachelor pad might look like, and I really do feel like we did his home dirty by bringing this tree and its ugly-ass ornaments here.
“I think it looks good.” He gives Marlin a few pats on his stomach, and the dog literally does nothing.
In the hour or so I’ve been here, he’s snored, farted, and slept.
“If Mama Adams stops over, this was your idea,” I warn him. “Don’t be throwing me under the bus, big guy.”
“She won’t be over tonight. It’s snowing, and when it’s snowing, my parents make popcorn and watch movies.” He tells me this like it’s absolutely no big deal. As if his parents aren’t doing shit that is in romance novels and rom-coms or something, even though they’ve got to be in their fifties.
When he catches me gawking at him, he shrugs. “What?”
“They make popcorn and watch movies?” I gasp. “Together? Like … the two of them?”
“Yeah?” He looks at me like I’m a nut. “They’ve been married for thirty years. They do weird, boring shit, okay? But it makes them happy.”
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” I squeak. “Who chooses the movie?”
“My mom,” he says instantly. “Always.”
“What if she chooses a cheesy rom-com?”
“Then they watch a cheesy rom-com.” He relaxes back. “You saw my parents, right? My mom says jump, and my dad says how high, all while he has a smile on his face. That’s their dynamic.”
I’m twenty-eight years old. I’ve dated plenty of men, and I’ve had three semi-serious boyfriends, yet not one of them ever did that for me. I thought I was the problem, or maybe men just all sucked. Maybe I’m wrong.
“That’s … really cool,” I whisper, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. “You’re really lucky that your family is so … well, strong.”
Right when those words leave my lips, I know that I’ve set myself up for questions about my own family. So, before Ridge gets a chance to blurt anything out, I peek at my watch.