Chapter Seven #3
“Okay,” he says, inspecting the contents of the shopping basket in his hand. “There’s lettuce, cucumber, and tomato for the salad. And some mushrooms and corn and potatoes to go on the grill. Do you think there’s any chance Audrey would let me—”
“Were you flirting with Amy from knitting circle?”
“Was I doing what where?”
“You heard me.” I focus on the display of greens behind him.
Broccoli and zucchini and such because meeting his gaze is too much.
“It’s not really any of my business. Though it sort of is, given the situation.
You hooking up with someone locally would be all sorts of awkward and embarrassing for me, what with the stories we’ve been spreading around. ”
“June,” he says, and waits. He wants me to look at him. And when I finally do, his dark brows are drawn down and he’s frowning. “What’s going on?”
“She just approached me at the meat counter, and I guess you could say she’s interested in your meat.”
He smiles in amusement. “Nice pun.”
“Thanks.”
“Amy makes an excellent banana cake,” he says. “Which of course I told her, but I wouldn’t call it flirting.”
“Okay.”
“I guess you could say, she doesn’t excite my banana.”
I snort.
He grabs the cucumber out of the basket. “I’d say my cucumber isn’t thrilled by her, but this one is way too small.”
“What are you talking about? That thing’s like twelve inches long.”
“My point exactly. This fruit just isn’t an honest representation of my manhood,” he says. “Girth really does matter. Is a cucumber a fruit or a vegetable?”
“It has seeds inside so it’s a fruit. Can you stop waving that around, please?”
“You didn’t want to touch it? Go on. I know you want to.”
I just wait for his foolishness to end. Which means we could be standing here a while.
He tips his chin and asks, “You wouldn’t be jealous by any chance, would you?”
“Of a cucumber?”
“HA. Of my new friend in the meat department.”
“What? No,” I say, with the world’s most fraudulent smile.
“Not even a little?”
“What a silly idea.”
“Do you know you have a tell?” he asks, putting down the cucumber so he can study my face. “When you’re lying.”
“I do not.”
“Yeah. You do.”
“Well, what is it?”
“There’s no way I’m giving that up. Then you’d stop doing it.” He takes a small step forward, getting in my space. “Which brings me back to my original point—we’re lying to a lot of people, but I’d prefer if you didn’t lie to me.”
“You wanted to just be friends and I respect that.”
“Given everything, it did seem like a good idea.”
“And I’m not saying you can’t see people. Only that it would be better if you did it in another town.” I straighten my shoulders and stand tall. There we go. A completely reasonable argument made in a calm and controlled manner. “What do you think?”
He gives me a long look and says, “Yeah. I still think you’re jealous.”
“Nash.”
“Why are you angry if you’re not jealous?”
“Because you’re not listening to me.”
“My sweet, I hear every word you say.”
“You’re free to do whatever you want,” I say, clearly and concisely. “This thing between us is nonsense. I mean, the situation exists solely to give you the chance to experience a different life. So, the last thing I’m going to do is try to tell you who you can be with in that new life.”
“Thank you, my sweetheart. I appreciate that.” He nods somberly. “I know how we can answer the whether you’re jealous or not question.”
“Nash. Oh my god! Would you—”
Which is when his hands cup my face, and he presses his mouth against mine.
Aaron Porter is kissing me. Stunned is a good word. Shocked isn’t bad either. Because this sure as hell wasn’t what I was expecting. Schemes and speeches leave my head entirely.
The warmth of him is everything. His lips are firm and soft at the same time.
I can’t explain it. Then his tongue is in my mouth and the taste of him is heaven.
Heat rises in me at his touch. It’s honestly a little dangerous for him to have this power over me.
Like one touch from him and nothing else matters.
His thumbs stroke over my skin, and he makes this hungry noise in the back of his throat. My hands grab at his t-shirt, and I rise up on my toes. There’s every chance of me climbing the man like a tree.
Which is when we both hear it—the sound of someone clearing their throat.
It’s loud and insistent and maybe this is not the first time they’ve done as much.
Our public display of affection is not appreciated.
I’d honestly lost all track of time and space and forgotten where we are.
And now we’re standing here staring at each other in shock.
Nash is the first to recover. “Sorry, Bernadette, our passions got the better of us.”
The small gray-haired woman is not appeased, and she has tutting down to an art form. She’s also not the only one watching. There’s a man over by the bakery with a small child who just got an education in the art of making out (over-the-clothes edition).
And then, at long last, there’s Amy, looking somber over amongst the meat. Guess she got her answer.