“I’m fine,” I lie, scooping up the mess I made, haphazardly shoving shit back on the shelves. “Just go back to whatever cowboy errand you were on and leave me to unravel in peace.”
He doesn’t move.
Just watches me—arms crossed, brows cocked, face tight.
“You’re not gonna help, are you?” I mutter, tossing my hair back.
His lips lift slowly. “I’m having more fun watching.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, my cheeks burn even more. “You would say that, asshole.”
“Thank fuck I’m not one of your clients anymore.” He scoffs, rolling back on his boots. “Not veryprofessionalof you to call me names.”
My eyes squeeze shut as I force myself to breathe through the raging emotions battering around inside me. I’m raw, exhausted, and one more mean comment or disaster away from losing my shit.
I want to ask about Aurora. About him. About everything. But the words wedge in my throat and won’t come out.
Before I can try, he nudges one of the rogue jars with the toe of his boot and lifts it.
“This that overpriced nonsense you city folk are into?” He squints at the label. “Almond butter. Don’t y’all have normal peanut butter in New York?”
I snatch it from him like he’s just insulted my bloodline. “For your information, most regular peanut butters aren’t gluten free.”
“Gluten free?” He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Why the hell would you eat that shit? It’s disgusting.”
I drop the jars into my cart, expression hardening. “Some of us don’t have a choice.”
His brow furrows. “Wait, you’re—”
“Yup,” I snap. “Celiac. Shocking, I know. Go ahead and get your jokes in while you can.”
But he doesn’t say anything. Just stares.
Silence stretches between us. The overhead lights hum. Somewhere above, a terrible, warbly cover ofEvery Breath You Takestarts to play through the crackling speaker system.
Our eyes lock. His flick to my mouth, where they stay, and my bodyabsolutelycomes to life under that stare.
So I drop my gaze to the almond butter still clutched in my hands and pretend like Kade Archer has zero effect on my senses.
“Your hair’s straight.”
I blink. “What?”
He gestures to my hair, brows pulled tight. “Most of the time, you wear it down and curly. Just look different, that’s all.”
Swallowing, I barely resist the urge to hide behind said hair, or shave it all off. Instead, I huff, and roll my eyes.
“And your hair’s frizzy.” I snatch the anti-frizz curl shampoo from my cart and thrust it into his stupidly hard chest with a sarcastic smile. “Here. Maybe this’ll help you stop looking likeyou just rolled out of a hay bale after disappointing a rancher’s daughter.”
Kade catches the bottle with one hand, brow arching slowly. “Darlin’, if I’d just rolled out of a hay bale with a rancher’s daughter, trust me, she wouldn’t be disappointed.”
“Doubtful.” My throat bobs, and his eyes are riveted to the movement.
“Maybe,” he rumbles, voice gravelly, “but I’ve got a feelingyou’dbe a lot louder.”
My mouth falls open, but I quickly snap it shut, fists clenched, body vibrating.
I want to punch him. Or kiss him. Or maybe throw him into a freezer aisle and file a restraining order. It’s unclear.
