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When she left the aisle, I let out a slow exhale, feeling so wildly out of control that my hands clenched so tight around the handle I was surprised I didn’t crush it flat.
With a backward glance, I studied the full cart I’d left behind, and flagged a worker wearing a cheery red shirt. “Hey, can you set that aside for me? I’ll be back for it in a little bit.”
The woman nodded, took my name, and I waited for Poppy to appear with two gallons of paint. When I eased them out of her hand, our fingers brushed, and she cleared her throat as we approached the register, side by side.
A pimply-faced teen rang everything up, bagging the items into brown paper bags. He glanced between us and said the total.
My eyebrows shot up. “What the hell do they put in paint these days?”
Poppy elbowed me in the side, smiling sweetly at the kid behind the counter. “Ignore him. We all do.”
The kid gave me a nervous, wide-eyed look, and I sighed. Poppy reached for her purse at the same time I reached for my wallet.
We both froze, gazes clashing.
“Not a chance,” I told her.
Her jaw edged out mulishly. “Jax, I’m the one who wanted to paint the room. I’m paying for it.”
“No, you’re not.”
The dark brown of her eyes sparked hot, and I felt a corresponding tug deep in my gut. “This is not a thing we’re doing,” she said firmly. “It’s for my house, I’m paying for it. You don’t just get to pay for stuff simply because you’re with me.”
I arched an eyebrow, handing my credit card over the counter without dropping my gaze a single inch. Her mouth fell open on a quiet, scoffing noise.
“I’m giving you some cash,” she argued.
Slowly, I leaned down and spoke quietly next to her ear. Her whole body went stock-still. “Try it and I’ll rip up every fucking dollar.”
Poppy inched away until she could look me in the face again. Those high cheekbones held a blush of pink, and herchest was heaving. I held my breath, waiting to see what she’d do.
The kid looked around nervously.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re welcome. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
There was a dangerous narrowing of her eyes, and I hid my grin because I didn’t fancy getting punched in the throat.
After paying, I carried the boxes out to Poppy’s car and settled them in the trunk, waiting for her to leave before I jogged back into the store and purchased the other cart.
Back at the house, I found her waiting patiently on the front step.
“Goodness, I had no idea you were such a slow driver.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Were we racing? I didn’t know.”
Poppy merely smiled, batting her eyelashes. “It’s always a race. At least in our family. The first person back home gets dibs on the remote for the night.”
I shifted the box in my arms and handed her my keys. “The blue one,” I told her. “I have your copy inside.”
She fished it out from the others and unlocked the door, pushing it open and then standing back to let me go through.
“I can’t believe this will be mine,” Poppy said quietly, turning in a slow circle in the family room. Her hand coasted down the front of her bump. “Ours,” she added quietly, and the bittersweet pang that sent through my bones almost took me to my knees.
After a few attempts to swallow that down, I handed her the first box. “This has prep stuff. If you don’t mind bringing it up there. I’ll get the rest.”
“Do you want me to start taping the trim for the primer?”
