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Rockwell tightens his grip around my waist giving me all the butterflies. It’s in response to Mrs. Fiore, but I can’t help my response. Besides, it all happened so fast; he hasn’t thought of releasing me yet.
“It’s been a long time,” Rockwell says, his voice even.
“Too long!” Mrs. Fiore pushes her cart up right next to ours. I’m scared she’ll say something about us dating. But I'm not exactly in the condition to bolt. “I’m so happy to see you two are together again.”
And there it is. I want to cry, and not because my knee is on fire.
Mrs. Fiore tilts her head to the side and makes the face of a proud mom beaming over her toddler’s drawing—except she is staring at us, and there is nothing to see between us.
“Actually,” I say. “We’re just grocery shopping.” I reach over and tap Rockwell’s chest. His very hard, sculpted chest. Whoops. I clear my throat, reining myself in. That didn’t look good. “We’re living next door to each other for the holidays.” I’m trying to explain why we would be shopping together, but my words make Mrs. Fiore’s grin widen.
“Carlo and I used to shop together when we were dating too. We didn’t live so close to each other. Couples do things so differently now. In our day, we had chaperones.”
Rockwell coughs into his hand. Even if I can’t run, I recognize a cue to move on. “We’re just neighbors,” I step out of his hold, taking over his cart, and limp forward. “Good seeing you, Mrs. Fiore.”
Rockwell raises his hand and waves. Great. He’s speechless. I’m afraid to look at him.
I clear my throat and blurt the first thing I think of to break the silence. “So, what were you saying about dinner?”
Chapter 10
Rockwell
Idon’tthinkit’sa good idea to be seen with Brie in public after the run-in with Mrs. Fiore. Brie attracts people to her like flies to honey. I’m as susceptible as anyone, I get it. But the town is starting to get ideas about us. I’m more concerned for Brie than I am for myself. A small-town rumor mill can be brutal. When I leave and don’t take her with me, people will think I dumped her again. Even if she’s over me, I don’t want to do that to her.
Which is why my thank-you dinner is happening at my place. Travis said I owed her at least this much for waking her up in the middle of the night and sending a deranged cat home with her. A real man would never have allowed that.
I know I was a jerk by leaving her after graduation, but I’ve tried hard not to be a jerk since. It ate at me all day until I saw her at the grocery store. What harm could one thank-you meal do? Especially if we’re hiding away from prying eyes in my bare living room. And we won’t be alone since I invited Travis to join us.
Brie takes a seat across from me on the blanket I spread out on the ground—her blanket, to be exact—and picks up a carton of Chinese food to read the label. My phone buzzes.
I pick it up and read Travis’s text.
TRAVIS:Sorry man, a client is freaking out. I’m going to have to be the one to handle this. I promise, this was not a set up.
I sit down hard on the blanket. One day wasn’t long enough to think this through. Everything about this looks very date-ish and cozy. I originally imagined us surrounded by other people at Bob’s Grill when I made the offer with Travis obviously by my side, but here we are. Alone.
“I love this,” Brie says, tucking her stocking feet under her legs and completely oblivious to my exact opposite reaction. “I dream about good Chinese food. But you don’t look very comfortable on the floor. You know I have a table next door.”
The carpet is soft, but I need a backrest. I’m not a flexible guy, so sitting criss-cross applesauce isn’t my style. Unfortunately for me, Brie has the side of the blanket touching the wall. It’s better I don’t admit my aching thighs and lower back, or she’ll start to feel guilty. Instead, I say, “I’m not going to make you host me again. What sort of gratitude would that be?”
“A practical one.”
I can be ultra-practical, but my mom taught mesomemanners. Even if we aren’t dating, I can be nice. Not to mention her roommates are home, and I don’t want them for an audience to feed the rumor mill. “Can I get you more of anything?” I hold up the box of fried rice. I had to drive into Spokane to meet a client, and I thought Chinese would be a nice change for her. I remember her begging her mom to make us fried rice in high school. This isn’t the same as homemade, but it’s better than what I could make.
“Yes, please.” She takes the box of fried rice from me and starts eating straight from it, ignoring her plate. “Oh, did you want some?”
I chuckle. “If I said yes, would you share?”
“Not likely.” She takes another bite and holds the white container possessively to her chest.
“You need to get out of Bearwood more often.”
“Is the fried rice hoarding making me look deprived?”
“Something about the hoarding combined with the bare surroundings.”
“Hey, this is your place, not mine.”
