THE GOOD ONES
GABBY BARRETT
EMORY
“We can’t. They aren’t on the list.” I put them back on the shelf and grab a giant bag of dye-, peanut-, gluten-, dairy-, and flavor-free, PTA-approved candy for the festival. “I have to stay on the budget, okay?”
Jordan narrates at my side in his best David Attenborough voice. Something he’s been doing all morning, earning more than one giggle from both Molly and me. Who knew shopping with a man could be so entertaining?
“The stubborn female continues the search for sustenance for her young offspring, demonstrating the hunt for food is a multifaceted, complex system of hunting, assessing, and gathering only what is necessary for survival.”
Molly hardly smiles, slumping in defeat, and eyeing every piece of candy on the shelves for something that might be an option worthy of the opinionated parents of her classmates.
Of course, I feel bad, but I can’t afford the extra expense on my own—especially as I cut costs for the farm while also deciding how much to invest, if any, in the vision I have for the piece of property that’s left.
I’ve been given a set amount of funds by the PTA for this event, and I can’t budge. So, moving down the aisle, I search for approved treats to fill the fifth-grade goodie bags we’ll be giving to each kid this weekend at the festival.
My hands are filled with budget-friendly and on-theme—but decidedly less appealing—candies, when I turn around and see Jordan and Molly still standing in front of the same place I left them. Jordan’s the first to look my way, rushing up to take the bags from me and place them in our cart.
When he makes puppy-dog eyes at me, holding his hands clasped at his chin, I know I’m in trouble. He doesn’t say a word, just begs me with those soulful, hazel eyes and a sexy smile that promises a reward. And I want whatever he’s offering.
“Seriously?”
He chuckles, looks over his shoulder to ensure Molly’s occupied with sulking, and quickly slips his mouth over mine.
“I can’t take it when she’s sad, Sweetheart,” he says against my lips, then kisses me again, running his hand down the length of my arm until our fingers are interlocked. I’m malleable clay under his masterful touch. “Don’t include them with the other stuff. They’re in my budget. My treat.”
“Fine.” I acquiesce far too quickly, poking him in the side. “But you have to be the one to explain to Bree and the gang why their kids are being poisoned with artificial coloring.”
“You ate a strawberry Pop-Tart this morning, chased down with strawberry milk.”
“We aren’t talking about me, Dr. Love. This is about the children.”
We walk hand in hand towards Molly and the Ring Pops she’s still making heart eyes at. Jordan swipes a bag from the shelf and puts them in the seat of the cart, winking at Molly as he does, before kissing my temple and beginning to push the cart again.
“The male showcases his weakness for the youngling, and thereby sets the stage for what are, to be sure, more grandiose gestures of his subservience to the greater gender,” Sir Attenborough continues his lesson. “He’s no more than a dog, lying on his back, desperate for a belly rub.”
Molly giggles, rubs his belly, then hugs his waist, walking with her arms linked around him. “Thanks, Ace. I’m going to give one to Theo when I propose. He loves strawberry best.”
Jordan freezes. “On second thought, these are really terrible for you. We should probably just throw them back. Pick out something with less commitment.”
I snort. He glares, and I’m not sorry in the slightest, because frantic protectiveness looks good on him.
“Or less sugar content. How about some apples? Yuuummmm.”
Molly shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Apples are so lame.”
“Why does it feel like she just called me lame?” he asks as Molly runs ahead of us.
“It’s a compliment of sorts. Means you’re doing something right.” I pat his hand. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I bet we could make up some little tags and call them graduation rings,” he announces. “The kids will love them. But Theo isn’t invited, right? He doesn’t even go to her school.”
I slip into my best Attenborough voice. “The male’s fiercely protective nature displays itself, ready to defend against the most beastly of enemies. The stalwart guardian hammers his hands to his chest and prepares to scare little boys—”
He butt bumps me.
“I mean… dangerous predators away from the precious cub.”
He grabs my wrist, stopping me in my tracks before we follow Molly into the next aisle. “She is precious to me,” he says, so earnestly. “You both are, Emory.”
His thumb swipes against my wrist, and I decide I don’t think I care who sees me make out with him against the marshmallow shelves.
Going onto my tiptoes and stretching my hands up his chest until they dangle loosely around his neck, I pull myself to him as close as I can.
This is all still so new to us but also familiar.
Jordan, Molly, and I are a natural pack of our own.
It’s why declaring what I’ve known for a while, in the sweets aisle, feels as easy as pressing a kiss to his lips.
“I love you.” Three words that bring tears to my eyes. How true they are and the way my heart swells as I know how blessed I am to have felt this way not once, but twice in my life. “You’re precious to me. To us.”
Jordan’s eyes glisten with tears before he claims my mouth with his, gently and unhurriedly. But I feel the dedication of his lips, his tongue, and his unspoken words all the way to my toes.
When he pulls away, running his nose along the length of mine and sealing it with a kiss on the forehead, he says, “I love you, Red. I love Molly.”
Which feels equally as important.
“I love what’s happening between us… And, I love this aisle.”
I snort against his smile. “It’s a good one.”
“Well,” a shrill voice ends my primal declaration of love for the man I’m cocooned within.
Why does Bree Taylor always seem to appear at the worst possible moment? Am I being punished somehow? Is she, like, a nudge of the Holy Spirit, telling me not to want to pull other women’s hair out or to stop the PDA with my boyfriend in the candy section?
“This is such a surprise.”
Jordan’s hand snakes around my waist as he leans in and whispers, “Master of stealth, the female prowls through the shadows towards her prey.”
She doesn’t seem to notice or care about the proprietary hand he’s splayed on the small of my back when she stalks as close as she can and greets him with a full frontal hug.
“You saved the day last week, Dr. Love. My Clementine was positively smitten with you. We’ve never had a vet she adored so much. ”
“Clementine is a very special dog, Mrs. Taylor.”
She grabs his forearm. Arguably in the top five most attractive pieces of the man’s body. “You are a very special veterinarian.”
No, ma’am. Not today. Not in my favorite aisle.
I clear my throat. “Great to see you, Bree.” I loop my arm around Jordan’s waist. If this is the jungle and Bree’s dead set on female controlled mating and intimidation tactics, I will not be leaving Jordan out for the wolves to descend.
He, quite simply, is mine. “Is your husband with you? I’d love to introduce him to my boyfriend. ”
Not that Jordan Love has ever labeled himself as such, but the man sleeps on my couch every night, and he did just say he loves me and my kid before sucking face in the grocery store, so I’m guessing he won’t mind me defining the relationship.
Especially with my good friend and co-PTA parent, Bree Taylor, who’s sneering at me with such disdain, you’d think I’d just said I hated her demented dog, Clementine, or sweet tea or Hellman’s mayonnaise.
An impiety in the South if there ever was one.
Boyfriend admittedly sounds too simplistic for what I’m feeling towards Jordan. I know he isn’t going anywhere, and though I don’t think we’ll be racing down a wedding aisle tomorrow, I also can’t picture taking that particular jaunt with anyone else. Ever.
The smirk he’s giving me tells me he doesn’t mind that title one bit. And probably that he’ll give me a hard time for my territorial display.
“I’d love to meet your husband and the rest of your family,” he says.
It’s so charming, I almost forget Bree isn’t someone I want to spend time with.
Nope, I’m mentally planning double dates with a person I genuinely don’t like to be around, just so I can keep Jordan on my arm like this and strut him around town in front of all the other women who might get the same idea as Bree.
He’s mine, ladies. You can look, but don’t you dare touch.
“He’s golfing,” she snips. “With Trey.”
“Trey Asscroft?” Jordan asks, mischief in his grin. “Good dude.”
Bree scoffs and clutches her chest, the Freudian slip a step too far for her delicate sensibilities. “Well, I… I better be going. Garth is waiting on me.”
At that exact moment, Molly and Garth appear at the end of the aisle. Molly’s hands are filled with more sugary snacks she’ll be convincing Jordan to purchase, and one of Garth’s hands holds a wrapper while the other is covered in what I sincerely hope is chocolate.
“Garth!” Bree screeches, running towards her son. “What did you do? You know you’re lactose intolerant.”
Molly gives me a look like, That explains it. And Bree races poor Gassy Garth away from us and out of sight, never giving our little family another thought.
“I’m starving,” Jordan announces, pushing our cart out of one aisle and down another. “How ‘bout we finish up here and I treat my girls to some lunch?”
“Just the three of us?” Molly asks, looking at Jordan like he hung the moon.
“Do you want anyone else to join?” he asks, not even recognizing the adoration she has for him. The way he’s so clearly precious to her, too.
“No,” she answers, as Jordan throws vegetables—he will surely be the only one consuming—into our cart. “I only want it to be just us.”
Me too.