“Pity isn’t on tonight’s menu.” She took the bag back. “So why don’t you go find some of that fancy coffee you brag about, while Muttley and I locate the potatoes? They’re on the next row at the end, right?”
“Right,” Hunter said, unable to stop looking at her.
With a brave smile in place, she walked down the aisle, careful of the other customers, letting Muttley do his thing. And God bless her, she located the potatoes. Hunter told himself to go get the coffee, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen in place by the delicate, feminine scent that lingered behind her.
Mackenzie worked her way through the potatoes, distinguishing the russet from the yams. She weighed one in her hand, then went in search of another. With two winners selected, she turned around to put them in her bag.
Only Loafer-Wearing Douche was back, and instead of heading to a less crowded row, he pressed forward, clearly oblivious to the fact that between the other carts, Mackenzie, and a guide dog with a white harness and fluorescent yellow vest, there wasn’t enough room.
“Excuse me,” he said. “You’re blocking the aisle.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mackenzie said, the comment clearly hitting a soft spot. Hunter found himself holding his breath as she plastered her body against the potato bin, tugging Muttley closer. But not close enough.
Loafer-Wearing Douche made a big deal of giving her a wide berth and clipped another cart, sending his cart careening into Mackenzie’s space. Muttley was on it like King Kong to his Ann Darrow, charging the cart and putting himself between it and his woman.
The abrupt motion yanked the harness, sending Mackenzie’s arm in one direction and the potatoes in the other. Thankfully, the cart didn’t make contact, but Mackenzie grabbed the bin for balance, sending an avalanche of yams crashing to the floor.
Muttley barked and people vacated the aisle, including Loafer-Wearing Douche, leaving Mackenzie in the middle of an epic disaster zone. Surrounded by walking hazards. With nowhere to go.
Hunter rushed to her side, sure to clip Loafer-Wearing Douche on his way. “You okay?” he asked her.
“Coming to the market at rush hour wasn’t such a great idea.” Mackenzie knelt, her hands searching the ground, trying her best to clear the aisle.
Hunter crouched down to help her, but she shooed his hands away. Hers were trembling.
“I’ve got it.” She struggled to place the potatoes back in the bin, then went for another handful.
“And I’ve got you,” he said, gently taking the potatoes from her.
“For how long?” she asked, then immediately shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, her voice going soft. So soft he barely heard her. “It’s just if I’m going to learn how to do this, then I need to do it on my own.”
Hunter wanted to argue but knew that it would only back her further into the corner. Instead, he silently helped, watching as the fierce determination beat out the humiliation.
Mackenzie was used to going it alone. She’d been forced down that path her entire life. And here she was again, having the rug ripped out from under her. But instead of complaining, she faced her situation head-on.
She might claim she wasn’t the same girl he knew. And Hunter would agree. She was even more impressive.
When the last of the potatoes was cleared from the aisle, she gave him a sad smile. “I bet you wish you’d taken me up on the pizza. It would have been a whole lot easier.”
“Where’s the excitement in easy?” he asked. “Plus, cleaning up produce keeps me humble.” Hunter helped her to her feet and then whispered, “It’s also the perfect cover for checking out your melons.”
