Page 59 of Stay Wild Darlin’

“We’re here.”

Dalton pulled into the lot and parked, killing the engine before stepping out. I reached for my door handle, but before I could push it open, he was already there, pulling it wide like we were in some kind of rom-com.

“A gentleman?” I teased, raising an eyebrow as I stepped down.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Normally we’ve got Cora in the truck, so I don’t get to do this part. I’ll be better about remembering.”

I rolled my eyes, smirking. “I was only kidding,” I said, brushing past him as we started walking toward the building.

He fell into step beside me, that slow grin still tugging at his lips.

“Well, maybe I’m not.”

We stepped into the store, and Dalton grabbed a cart and looked over at me. “Where to first, boss?”

“Mind if I stop by the women’s section real quick? Most of my shirts are . . . well, let’s say Cora’s been using them as a canvas.”

He smirked, eyes sparkling. “Puke chic? Very on trend.”

I laughed, bumping his shoulder with mine as we walked. “Yeah, well, I figure it’s time I own at least one shirt that doesn’t smell like baby formula.”

He pushed the cart with one hand and gestured dramatically with the other. “Lead the way, milady. Let’s find you a shirt that screams NILF.”

“NILF?”

“Nanny I’d Like To Fuck.”

“Dalton,” I said and playfully swatted at his hand.

He chuckled. “Come on. Let’s go find something.”

We wandered into the women’s section, and I started flipping through a few racks while he leaned casually against the cart, watching me with a quiet, amused look. There wasn’t any rush.

I picked up a simple cream-colored top and held it up. “Too plain?”

He tilted his head, eyes roaming way too slowly over me before saying, “Nah. You could wear a trash bag and still look good.”

I tried not to let that compliment settle too deep, but it did. It fluttered. Right in the middle of my chest.

“Careful, cowboy,” I murmured, hanging the shirt over my arm. “You’re flirting again.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Maybe.”

We didn’t say much after that, a few more quiet jokes and side glances.

After I grabbed a couple of shirts that didn’t smell like spit-up, we made our way back toward the baby section. Dalton tossed a case of wipes into the cart without looking and pointed to the shelves lined with formula.

“This the stuff, right?” he asked, squinting at the labels.

I nodded, grabbing the right can off the shelf. “Yep. Hypoallergenic gold.”

He leaned in, peering over my shoulder to read the label himself, and his chest brushed my back slightly. I froze for a breath. So did he. Neither of us said anything.

Yet, he didn’t move away.

“We should buy enough to last a month,” I said, stepping aside to distract myself.

We finished loading the cart with way more than we intended, because apparently, shopping with Dalton meant getting half the store, but I didn’t mind. Not with the way he kept finding reasons to brush against me, or the way his fingers lingered a second too long when he handed me something.