Page 1 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

CHAPTER 1

As far as Sutton Rose was concerned, babies came from love or bad math. Or at least there was sex involved. Yet there she was, after a five-year sex deprivation, juggling a four-year-old, a diaper bag the size of Mary Poppins' purse, and clutching a legal document that screamed, You're an adult now, Sutton, congrats!

Sutton planted one sneaker on the lowest shelf, rose to her tiptoes, and stretched like her spine might snap in half. Whoever designed grocery shelving clearly hated short women, feminine hygiene, and joy in general.

The box she wanted—Ultra-Plus, fortress-grade—sat tauntingly on the top shelf, two inches out of reach.

"Afternoon." The male voice at her back made her freeze mid-stretch.

She didn't answer. Maybe he'd just go away. The last thing she needed was a man wandering into her life, distracting her with empty promises and bad timing.

"Ma'am?" he tried again.

"Ma'am?"

Translation: tired, possibly married, definitely off the market.

Sutton scoffed. He had to be shitting her. She wasn't even twenty-four. Way too young to be ma'amed. "Are you trying to start a fight in the tampon aisle?"

He chuckled. "Tell me your name and I'll call you that."

"Nice try."

"Need help?" he asked.

"Nope." She popped that P in a this-conversation-has-expired kind of way.

"Good Lord, you are the most suspicious person I've ever met."

"Says the guy lurking in the feminine-hygiene aisle," she said, her eyes locked on the boxes and boxes of tampons, hoping he'd get the message.

He did not.

"It's not lurking. It's called being a gentleman. And while I'd never pressure a lady, I'd feel mighty guilty if anything happened to you while you're balanced on the very edge of a store fixture. So I'll just stand here beside you, arms at the ready, watching you attempt the impossible until you admit you need help. Sound fair?"

Rule number one of grocery shopping with a stranger's eyes on you: do not acknowledge the forearms. Sutton acknowledged the forearms.

"Top-shelf conspiracy against short people is real," she informed him.

"Good thing I'm tall and heroic."

She ignored the bait and stretched another inch, fingers grazing cardboard.

"You can stretch all you want," he said, amusement curling into warmth. "But the only thing you're accomplishing is showing me more of the teal lace you've got on."

Her breath stuttered. She slapped her hand over her butt and whipped around—far too fast—and her balance went out from under her. The shelf edge disappeared from beneath her feet and she pitched forward.

Strong hands wrapped her waist before she could face-plant. Her palms hit his chest, discovering solid muscle beneath a green, well-worn Henley. Her nose nearly brushed his. Their uneven breath mingled. His arms locked around her like holding her upright was instinct, not choice.

Every nerve ending she owned lit up and instant electricity shot through her veins—making her want to do something reckless, if she were being honest.

"If you wanted attention, you could've just asked," he murmured, voice low enough to skim her skin.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "I guess I did need⁠—"

Sutton looked up into the most mesmerizing set of hunter-green, flirt-tainted eyes she’d ever seen and the words died on her lips, then dropped straight to the pit of her stomach where they expanded and churned until she swore her organs were trying to crawl up her throat.

Oh God. She couldn't breathe. It wasn't just any man.