Page 22 of Grouch-ish

Brock enters, weighed down by plastic grocery bags dangling off each of his wrists. With his booted foot, he nudges the door closed with his heel, and stumbles forward.

“You came back.” A question lingers in the declaration. He wasn’t gone that long, honestly.

Still, my heart is racing, and I place my hand over my chest as if the movement can calm the rapid pattering. Maybe I was more worried than I thought that Brock wouldn’t return. That he’d drive off to Chicago without a word, and I’d never see him again.

The sound of cans and boxes lightly thud on the wooden dining table as Brock struggles to release his wrists from the plentiful sacks.

“What is all this?” I chuckle, attempting to clear the evident surprise and slight relief from my throat as I step closer to the table.

“Explain that reaction.” His rugged voice, growly and demanding, has me lifting my head and meeting his dark eyes.

“What reaction?”

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” His head tilts to the side, and those coal-colored eyes flicker with a tiny speck of light. A diamond hidden in the rough.

I shrug, gazing down at the collection of bags spread across the table. Reaching for one, I toy with the handle to avoid the pressure of him watching me.

“Snowflake?” he encourages.

“I just thought you might want to escape. Heading to the store would be your chance to ditch this gig.” Sheepishly, I glance up to find his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“I am not a quitter.” He’d vehemently said the same thing yesterday but this time his tone is tender, cautious.

“I know, but I still thought . . .”

“I’d never leave without saying goodbye.” His penetrating eyes are still watching me, and I glance down at the grocery bags again. In less than twelve days, goodbye might be the only thing he’ll say to me.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

How do I explain myself? Was I worried that I’d lose him, too? That was ridiculous. I’d only met him yesterday. So what if he sucked at my neck today in a way I’d never been kissed before. We weren’t life partners. We weren’t soulmates. We weren’t the pair he kept calling us.

“Nothing,” I state as I reach for a bag in the middle of the table that toppled over from its own weight.

Brock catches my wrist, causing me to look up at him. His tender squeeze demands I answer.

“I just thought you’d leave.”

His mouth quirks, the corner rising. “I’d think you’d be happy to see me go.”

“It isn’t awful spending time with you, I guess.”

His smile spreads wider, salacious, sensual. How had I not noticed his mouth before? Those lush lips. The white teeth sneaking out with his grin. And don’t forget that silvery scruff on his jaw growing thicker by the hour.

“Yeah. You aren’t awful either.” He winks, and I’m like a match lighting on the first strike. My insides blaze and my cheeks warm, but the molten desire between my legs hits the hardest. I want to swipe the groceries off this table and climb over it on my hands and knees, tug at the collar of his jacket and pull him to me, where I’d crush my mouth against his and—

“Pear?”

Oh my God. Did I say any of that fantasy aloud? I take a second to consciously review the last few minutes, worrying that my vivid imaginings came out in a verbal seduction. The quick check tells me I’ve kept my thoughts to myself, and I tug at my arm so Brock will release my wrist.

“I’m good.”

He hums as his eyes roam from my hair to my stomach and back to my eyes.

“So what did you buy?” I ask as a way of distraction.

“My woman wanted roast beast, so I bought us one.” He rustles through the plastic bags and removes a beef tenderloin that’s big enough to feed twelve, not two.