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The trip to the grocery store is quiet. Rand concentrates on the road, but the tension in the cab is thick. I feel it. The longer I’m close to him, the more the fine hairs on my arms stand up. He feels it, too. Nothing he says or does tells me that, but the awareness between us is both undeniable and unbearable.
When we arrive at the store, he pulls into a spot at the edge of the lot and whips out his phone, types a message, then taps his thumb impatiently on the steering wheel. He’s keyed up.
Me, too.
What will happen once the sun falls, darkness sweeps in, and temptation rises?
I’m picturing every delicious possibility when someone knocks on Rand’s tinted window. He lowers it halfway. “Hal?”
“Yeah,” the older man replies, then gestures to a shopping cart behind him. “I got everything you asked for.”
“Thanks. Can you load it in the backseat?” He thumbs behind him at the empty bench.
“Sure.”
Rand hands over some cash, and Hal piles the plastic-bagged groceries behind our seats. I keep my face turned away, pressed down toward my shoulder as if I’m half asleep. As far as I can tell, he barely gives me a second glance.
“I also rounded up the extras you asked for.” Hal smiles, then glances my way as he hands over a paper bag. The neck of what seems like a wine bottle sticks up. “Good luck.”
Rand takes it and sets it between us. “Thanks.”
Then he rolls up the window and we’re off, heading back to the cottage. I’m fascinated by the mystery bag. “What’s that?”
“Something for later.”
He’s intentionally vague, and I find myself more curious than ever. “Meaning?”
He turns to me, dark brow raised in subtle rebuke. “Meaning you’ll find out later.”
Maybe it’s high-handed. Maybe I should be mad. But his hint of dominance makes me shiver.
Once we arrive back at the cheerful yellow cottage, he takes the mystery bag, in addition to most of the other groceries. I bring in the rest and start putting things away.
“I guessed what we might need, but there should be enough for a few days.”
“Totally.” From what I can tell, he thought of everything. “Can you grill?”
“Do I have a Y chromosome?” he shoots back with a grin.
“Obviously. Let’s do that for dinner.”
“Deal. In the meantime, I’m going to hole up in the kids’ bedroom and do some research. I’ve got a few thoughts about who might be after you, but I want to do my homework first.”
He’s being responsible, and I’m stupidly disappointed. I was hoping… Never mind. I can be an adult, too. “I’ll, um, sit at the kitchen table with a paper and pen, maybe try to write something for a future album.”
“You write your own songs?”
“Sometimes.” But I’ve been a little dry on material lately. Life has been dull. So much of the same. Record, appear, travel, pose—in an endless loop over and over. “Anyway, that’s where I’ll be if you have questions.”
He nods, checks the doors and windows again, then disappears to the back of the house. I find a pencil and a piece of paper, then sit…but the words don’t come. Instead, I turn on some cable channel that’s playing game shows and start chopping melons for a fruit salad and fixings for our burgers. I slap together patties and season them. Preparing our dinner feels domestic. What if I cooked for Rand every day?
That fantasy plays dangerously in my head until the sun slants through the room and dusk begins to draw near. He steps into the kitchen, big body taut, face tense. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say as I ready the meat on a platter and start baked beans on the stove.
“Looks good.”
I almost make some quip about the man thinking with his stomach, but when I look at where he’s fastened his stare, I realize the too-tight sweater has slid away from my nipples. He hasn’t even blinked.
I don’t know what to say.
Rand suddenly clears his throat. “I’ll go start the grill.”
Then he’s gone.
Dinner is a quiet affair. He pulls out a bottle of merlot from the mystery bag that so intrigued me at the grocery store and pours me a glass as we sit to eat.
“You’re not having one?”
“I don’t drink on the job. You go ahead.”
Normally, I wouldn’t. But I have a suspicion I’m going to need liquid fortitude to get through this meal. Being so close to Rand… Every hour that ticks by, I’m more aware of him. The tension turns thicker. My body feels achier.
What would he do if I threw caution to the wind and kissed him?
He spoons up baked beans from the pan as I toss some lettuce and ketchup on my burger. “Talk to me about your previous agent.”
“Dorinda?” This isn’t where I thought the conversation would head next. “We started the business together, really. I was young and green. So was she. I got ‘discovered’ at a school talent show, did you know that?”
