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At this point, thoughts of my family were a welcome distraction from the stress at work and the worry over Jeff becoming my boss. The last thing I wanted was to let my staff down by allowing that to happen.
Attempting to put those thoughts aside, I ran into the local market. There were bigger stores on the outside of town, but I knew this store like the back of my hand. I grabbed the last of the ingredients on my list for snickerdoodles and then counted my blessings when there was only one person with a single item in front of me at the checkout counter. Maybe I wouldn’t be so late, after all.
As I unloaded my full carry basket onto the belt, I couldn’t help noticing the man in front me who was wearing a charcoal gray suit. He was attractive, but what instantly perked up my ears was his British accent. That wasn’t something one often heard in this suburban town outside of Dallas, Texas.
He was talking to the elderly cashier, who I knew as Laverne, about lacking the identification necessary to buy the bottle of champagne she was holding in her hand.
“You have my word I’m over the legal drinking age, whatever that may be here in Texas.”
Laverne adjusted her thick glasses and shook her head. “Unless you have some sort of identification proving it, honey, I can’t sell it to you.”
He searched the inside pocket of his suit. “Unfortunately, my passport is back in my hotel room. Is there any chance you could give me the bottle now, and I could return tomorrow with my ID?”
Nice try, I thought, but then realized the words had inadvertently slipped out loud. When his ice-blue eyes focused on me, my body immediately responded. Because the eyes were only part of what made up his gorgeous face, now turned in my direction.
Damn, David Gandy had nothing on his younger version, for sure. The man’s mouth turned up in a slight smile toward me before he sighed at Laverne, seemingly recognizing that her cataracts and sour expression made any use of his charms a wasted effort.
Taking pity, I stepped up. “Hey, Laverne, how about I pay for the bottle? I have my ID if you need it.”
She hesitated and then glared when Brexy, my new mingled word for British and sexy, pulled out his wallet, probably to front me the money.
“You keep your wallet and your cash where it is, honey. What you two do in private ain’t none of my business, but don’t be doing it in front of me. Rules are rules.”
Brexy and I exchanged arched brows at Laverne’s suggestive way of putting it, but he stowed his wallet and said, “Understood. I promise to, uh, finish this transaction in private.”
Now he was smirking. The expression suited his handsome features very well. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
“Good.”
As Laverne scanned my items, she started chatting. “Making snickerdoodles with the girls tonight?” She directed the question toward me.
“Yes. Sure am.” I noticed the man’s gaze flick over to my left hand. Subtle he was not. Then again, neither was I. “My three nieces,” I offered, feeling like an idiot for needing to clarify that point.
“You don’t need her identification, I take it?” he inquired, making room for me to slide my credit card at the terminal in front of us.
Laverne tsked “I’ve known Peyton here for nearly the twenty-nine years she’s been on this earth, so I’m quite aware of her age without needing proper identification.” She handed me the receipt after bagging everything and added, “She’s also quite single.”
And with that, she was moving on to the next customer.
I shook my head over her use of the word ‘quite’ in front of single. Because ‘single’ wasn’t enough, she had to add the word ‘quite,’ making it sound as if I couldn’t possibly bemoresingle.
Small towns. Gotta love ‘em.
Brexy-could-pass-for-David-Gandy’s younger brother walked with me out the door and then fixed his smirk back on me. Suddenly I wished my unruly brown hair was in something other than a messy bun and my makeup wasn’t ten hours old.
Even if I’d been made up, I certainly wasn’t winning any beauty contests today with my tattered jeans and Mickey Mouse T-shirt putting me over the edge of casual into the land of lazy. Wasn’t that just the way of it, though? During the week, when I dressed in suits and heels, I saw nobody worth getting dressed up for. But when I changed into comfy clothes, I met the sexiest man alive. Oh well.
“So now that you’requiteaware of not only my age, but also my status and name, would it be too forward to ask for yours?”
“Simon. Thirty years old and quite single, as well,” he offered, pulling out his wallet. He then cursed at the fact he didn’t appear to have any cash.
I grinned. “I only meant your name, but I appreciate the even playing field. There’s an ATM next door at the bank if you want to walk over.”
“Thank you, by the way, for the rescue of the champagne.” He fell into step with me during the short walk down the sidewalk.
“You’re welcome.” The sound of a horn startled me. I immediately scanned the parking lot, looking for my SUV, and cursed at what I saw. “Shit. I’ll be right back.” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before sprinting across the lot to my white Chevy Tahoe. It was a large car for a single woman, but considering the big guy currently in the driver’s seat lying on the horn, I certainly needed one.
“Cooper, bad dog. No. Get off the horn.” I unlocked the doors, set my bags on the seat, and then shoved my humongous, black Great Dane off the driver’s side. “Get back where you belong, you big oaf.” I petted his adorable face and allowed him to nuzzle me, giggling in response as I always did.
