No designer anything today. Just a worn-in pair of Levi’s hugging her hips a little too well, a soft lavender pullover, with the sleeves pushed to her elbows. Her white sneakers are already scuffed with dirt, like she’s been outside poking around while I was hauling ass to keep the ranch intact. Her brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, a few strands falling loosely framing her face, and that damn lavender bow is tied at the base like she’s completely unaware she looks like an angel standing on top of the stairs.
She looks fresh-faced, glowing, like she just splashed cold water on her cheeks and decided to casually ruin my entire life.
I drag a hand over my mouth, groaning internally. Of course she looks this fucking good without even trying.
She spots me and grins. “Wanna take me to town?”
Her voice is all sweet and sunshine, but there’s that gleam in her eyes again—the one that tells me she knows exactly how much of a menace she is.
“I need snacks. If I’m going to be trapped here during a storm, I’d like to be properly supplied.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thank youuuu,” she says brightly, like I just paid her a compliment.
I shake my head, already halfway to the front door. “Come on, princess. Let’s get your emergency snacks.”
The driveinto town is quiet at first, the sky heavy with clouds and the tension between us still soft from last night. She hums along to the music on the radio, her leg pulled up into the seat, as her arms are crossed loosely around her knees.
I steal glances when I can’t help it, needing to look at the soft profile of hers. She’s tapping her fingers aimlessly against her knee to the beat of the song, and I can’t help notice the way her nose scrunches when she’s silently singing to herself. It’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
Okay, idiot, focus on the road before you kill us both.
I throw the truck in park, the tires skidding on the asphalt. Before I can grab my key fob, she throws the door open and bolts towards the grocery store without sparing me a glance.
I smirk to myself, fuck, this woman.
The grocery store is packed. Typical last-minute panic—carts overflowing, and people shoulder-checking each other in the bread aisle. I keep it simple: water, eggs, bread, and canned soup.
Shit we’ll eat.
Catalina, naturally, is nowhere to be found.
I make a slow loop through the store, maneuvering my cart around frantic shoppers and aisles of picked-over shelves. It’s not until I hit the chip section that I find her crouched down in front of the shelves like she’s solving a goddamn algebra equation. She’s dead serious, her head tilted, and brows furrowed.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.
She glances over her shoulder like I just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.
“I’m deciding.”
“Deciding what? It’s chips.”
“My mood decides my snack vibe,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I need something salty, maybe spicy. I’m leaning towards Hot Cheetos, but jalapeño kettle chips are whispering to me right now.”
I stare at her for a beat. “You realize there’s a category four tornado headed our way, and you’re over here having a spiritual crisis over chips.”
She stands up and shrugs, tossing two bags into the cart without shame.
“Snacks are sacred. You’ll thank me when you’re stress-eating during a power outage because you’re trapped in a house with a woman who never shuts up.”
“I’m already doing that,” I mutter, pushing the cart.
She smirks, falling into step beside me. “And yet, youhaven’t thrown me into the river. So deep down, you must really like me.”
God help me, I really fucking do.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhaling patience like I’m about to battle with the devil herself.
