By the time we make it to the register, we have tins of cat food, treats, a few toys, and the collar. Dominic even added a few things of his own. I think he likes Babooshka more than he’s prepared to admit.
The old lady ahead of us unloads her small pile of groceries, each item sliding across the scanner with a soft beep. She doesn’t have much, just the basics: bread, milk, a packet of biscuits, two bananas, and a few cans of soup.
When the cashier tells her the total, she winces andstarts rummaging through her flimsy reusable bag, pulling items out one by one.
“How much will it be if you take this off?” she asks, holding up a tin of soup she clearly needs.
My stomach twists, but before I can even open my mouth, Dominic reaches into his pocket, steps forward, and calmly taps his card against the machine. He strolls back to Peach and me like he didn’t just do the sweetest, most heart-melting thing in the world.
The old lady turns, startled by him at first. I hate how he’s constantly judged for his appearance. People see the tattoos, the scars, the size of him, and they decide who he is before he even opens his mouth. Underneath all that brute, he’s a beautifully misunderstood man who would give you the world if you’d let him.
Her eyes well up the moment she realises what he’s done, and mine sting right along with hers. She mouths a shaky, “Thank you,” then clutches her groceries as if they’ve suddenly become precious. Dominic gives her a slight nod and looks away, acting like it had nothing to do with him, and somehow, that makes my chest ache even more.
This man.
“I’m going to be gone most of the day,” Dominic says over breakfast. “I have shit to do. Will Lil’ Peach be okay to stay here with you?”
“Of course. I might give Lucia a call and see if she wants to do something. I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy being cooped up inside all the time.”
“You are?” he asks, frowning.
“It’s pretty sad when the highlight of your week is grocery shopping,” I answer.
He grimaces. “Organise something tomorrow, and I’ll take you wherever you want. Just the three of us.”
The three of us.
“Wherever I want?” I repeat.
He grunts, and I roll my lips to hide my smile. He’s trying to play it cool, but I swear I can see the exact moment he realises he’s given me far too much power.
“Wherever, just no stupid shit. Like …” He gestures vaguely with his fork. “No yoga. No painting, pottery, or dragging me to some place that sells crystals and promises to fix my aura. My aura is absolutely fine.”
“Is it though?”
“Yes,” he growls, and this time, I can’t hide the smile that curves my lips.
“We could get mani-pedis or a couple’s facial.”
He rears back slightly. “A couple’s facial?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I was teasing, I didn’t mean to imply we were anything more than friends, even if I wish with every fibre of my body.
Constantly seeing a side of him that he hides from the rest of the world, or watching him come in from the garage, shirtless and sweaty, or seeing how doting he is with Peach, is slowly dismantling every wall I have.
It’s like living with a beautiful disaster I can’t help but be drawn to. As if every quiet, ordinary moment makes it harder to pretend I’m not completely tangled up in him.
“You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t. I also have no idea what a mani-pedi is, but it’s a big fucking no to them both.”
I let out a small laugh. “I promise to organise something manly and cool.”
“I want you to organise something you’d like to do, Em, within reason, of course.”
“Of course,” I reply, giving him a cheeky wink as I grasp my plate and go to rise from the table.
He reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulls out his wallet, and slides his credit card across the table to me.
