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“I’m a traitor,” I hiss to Davis, skirting the aisles like I’m hiding from a sniper. “Fallon will kill me.”
He chuckles as his dark eyes rove the store. David Bowie drifts over the speakers, giving it a kind of eclectic cowboy cool. “I have to admit, it’s impressive.”
Impressive is an understatement. Little Prairie Market is everything Resurrection needs. Charming. Innovative. Accessible. And a bigger supermarket chain means no more driving to Billings or Bozeman to stock up—everything is local.
They’re not the devil Fallon painted them out to be, but they’re not doing The Corner Store any favors.
“How can we compete?” I ask Davis. “Dad can keep the store open and bleed money if he wants…but Fallon…she’s wasting away there.”
A thoughtful look crosses his face, and his hand moves to the small of my back. “Maybe you don’t compete?”
I arch a brow. “That’s…helpful?”
He grins and grabs a cart.
I give a cursory glance around. Under the bright lights of the market, it feels hard to hide. From Resurrection. From my stomach.
There’s a handful of people with baskets strolling past a mural of Billy the Kid painted on a crisp white wall. I marvel at the displays of fresh-caught seafood. As I meander through the aisles, Davis behind me, my brain turns his words over and over.Maybe you don’t compete.
Maybe we don’t.
Maybe we change.
The Little Prairie Market has everything we don’t. But we have a restaurant, and the one thing the town doesn’t have—a bakery.
I gasp when I turn the corner and find myself in the home goods section.
More specifically, the baby aisle. Cans of powdered formula, funky wooden rattles, and organic baby food surround me. I find myself pausing, taking in the tiny onesies and plush blankets.
“Holy shit, they do have bras,” I say, lunging for a rack with greedy hands. I unzip my jacket, then push on my chest, my cleavage in upheaval. I moan at the relief. “They’re huge now.”
Davis’s face reddens. “Jesus Christ, Dakota.” His voice is anguished.
I hide a smirk at this big cowboy coming undone. Davis’s appreciation for my breasts knows no bounds. With a flirty smile, I lean into his chest and purr, “But you already know that, don’t you?”
Eyes turning dark and feral, his hand slides to squeeze the curve of my ass.
I drop a bra into the cart.
“I’m going to check out the baking supplies.” I swat at him when he makes a move to follow me. “Stay here. Guard the bras,” I say, enjoying the look of panic on his face.
The last thing we need is the entire town gossiping about us. Even if I can’t get the thought of two earth shattering orgasms from this morning out of my head.
He rolls his eyes, but stands near the aisle endcap, arms crossed, looking like some overprotective bodyguard on baby aisle duty.
Briefly, I let my eyes linger on the sexy sight, then head for the dairy aisle.
“Oh my God,” I say on a breathy sigh.
It’s better than anything I’ve ever seen in my life.
Coolers stocked with the most decadent essentials of ingredients.
French grass-fed butter flaked with sea salt. Crème fraiche. Organic eggs. A hopeful giddiness rises inside of me. I’m already envisioning Ruby’s birthday cake. A carrot cake as tall as the Rocky Mountains. As sweet as the girl I’ve come to know.
“Never thought I’d see it,” a raspy voice says from behind me. I turn, stifling a groan. Sheena Wolfington slinks around a display of soup cans, looking like she’s been lying in wait. “Goodbye Girlon aisle three.”
I take a step back from Sheena and yank my jacket shut. But I’m too late. Her wolfish eyes lock on my stomach. “Don’t you have better things to do than lurk in dairy aisles, Sheena?” I ask, squaring my shoulders.
