“Do you?”
“Well, yeah. Groceries are crazy expensive here. Costco is always worth the trip.”
“Would you be willing to go now?”
I stare at him for a moment, feeling like maybe, just maybe, my proximity to them and my understanding of their situation is being taken advantage of. “As a favor to Monica and Eddie? Sure. I can do that. I mean, it does take a big chunk out of my day, and there are ferries to consider.”
“We’ll compensate you financially,” he says. “Whatever your price.”
“Just pay for my gas and the ferry and we’ll call it even.” I bite my lip. “And I request that you come along.”
“Me?”
“You just said you need to go off island, and I’m not doing this by myself.”
“I have a grocery list.”
“I’m sure you do. But this will take all day, and I’m not going to do it alone, especially if I’m shopping for a duke and duchess. I don’t want to cause a scandal because I accidentally subbed oat milk for almond milk or didn’t get the right cut of meat. That’s going to be your responsibility, not mine.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but that crevasse between his brows is deepening. “I have to run it past them,” he says warily, like I’m really twisting his arm here.
“Didn’t Monica say your other dude is here? You know, the spare bodyguard.”
“James isn’t a spare,” he says. “He’s part of the team.”
“Either way, you ask them, because I’m not going without you. Either you come with me or no one is going to Costco.”
He stares at me for a moment. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Evans.”
“And you’re the one asking big favors.”
He exhales in a low huff and takes out his phone, quickly sending a message.
“So you can text?” I comment wryly. “Ever thought about doing that instead of showing up at my door or in my yard at random hours?”
“As I said the other day, I take great pleasure in distracting you.”
The way he says great pleasure is borderline lewd, his voice rich and silky, and I actually have to look away from his non–eye contact. I hate being flustered in front of him, and seeing that reflected in his sunglasses, and I especially hate this sexy act with his words and the way he eats cake.
He doesn’t seem to pay me any attention and looks down as his phone beeps. “It’s fine. Shall I drive?”
I should let him drive. Let him do something, especially in one of those nice SUVs. But because I’m already inconveniencing him, I decide to inconvenience him more.
“I’ll drive,” I tell him, giving him a borderline evil grin. “Let me get my keys.”
Before he can protest, I head inside the house, grab the car keys and my purse, and tell my mom I’m going to Costco and to text me if she wants anything. Then I’m closing the door behind me and smiling at Harrison, taking extra pleasure in his discomfort.
“Shall we?” I say to him in a singsong voice as I walk over to the car.
He grumbles something under his breath, then catches himself and gives me a decisive nod. I’m really getting under his skin now.
I get in the Garbage Pail while he tries to fit himself through the passenger side. Much like before, on our very first meeting, his knees are almost rammed up against the dash, and the seat adjustments are taking him for a ride.
And like before, I find it beyond funny. As the seat jerks back and forth, I’m giggling, unable to hide it.
“This is why you insisted on driving, isn’t it?” he asks me, his voice peppered with annoyance.
“Maybe you’re not the only one who likes to be in control.”
That makes him pause. Then the seat locks in the right position and I’m starting the car. He’s so damn imposing, his shoulders so wide, that the car feels way too small for the two of us. I can’t tell if this was a good idea or a bad one.
The new annoying thing is that I don’t have a remote gate opener, so I’m totally prepared for Harrison to get out and enter the code, but to my surprise he pulls a fob out of his pocket and aims it at the gate. It opens slowly.
“How long have you had one of those, and why the hell don’t I have one?” I ask him.
He shrugs with one shoulder. “Guess it slipped my mind. Here, have this one,” he says as he opens the glove compartment to put it in there.
A million Tic Tac boxes come pouring out onto his lap, along with insurance papers, school papers, and a historical romance I’d thought I lost.
I can’t help him. The gates are open, and I’m driving the Garbage Pail through, the cul-de-sac empty except for an SUV parked at the mouth of it. James, I assume.