Fuck, this kid is cute.
“That’s a cool name.”Did you pick it with your husband?I don’t ask. And why the fuck am I dying to know this woman’s marital status? Because she seems sweet and is gorgeous? She’s not the first sweet, hot woman I’ve met before. In fact, I’ve met plenty. And yet, for some reason, her marital/relationship status is all I care about. It’s at the forefront of all my thoughts.
“Thanks,” she smiles as my gaze volleys between her and Jett. “I like it. It’s unique.” She looks to my chest, where my name was embroidered the last time I saw her. “Like Beau, I guess.”
I sift my hand through my hair, releasing my ironclad grip on the side of the shopping cart. Some 80s song plays lightly over the store speaker, and a woman wearing a rain bonnet pushes a cart past us, a wrinkled list clutched tight in her weathered hand.
“I guess Beau’s unique,” I ponder. Truthfully, I’ve never really thought much about my name. But if that’s what she wants to talk about, I’m here for it. “Not as cool as Jett, though,” I say, smiling back down at the baby. Why am I looking at this kid so much?
I bring my attention back to her, and the rush of prickling heat that floods my chest is so surprising that I clear my throat around it. “I’m sorry again,” I say softly. “I’m sorry I talked to you that way last week and that I, you know, was generally an asshole.”
She winces, cupping her hands to her mouth. I notice there’s no ring on her finger as she whispers, “jackhole.”
I cock a brow and chuckle. “I am… yes, I guess I am ajackhole.”
She laughs, and it’s so light and pure that the melodic sound of it makes my heart pick up its pace just a little. I laugh, too, because her energy is so fucking contagious.
“No, you’re not a jackhole.” She taps her chin playfully, and everything south of my belt tightens. “I mean, maybe you are; I don’t really know. But jackhole is the word I use when I want to call someone a jackass,” she mouths the ass, “or asshole,” again, she mouths the word ass. “It’s my baby safe curse word.”
I nod my head in understanding. “Got it.”
“So you were a jackhole that day, yes, but everyone has their jackhole moments. Like I said, it’s fine.”
I nod, trying very hard not to look at the thin strip of exposed skin between her pants and top. Jett lets loose a cry, and both of us look down at him. Then he giggles. And she smiles.
And it’s right there in the Sprouts Market with nothing but chicken breast, kale, and cashews in my cart, wearing my Wrench Kings polo, work boots, and pants, with Rick Astley crooning love in the background that I realize I have amassivecrush on Rebecca Reid with the 2019 four-door sedan with a new air conditioner, who has something in her house painted sky blue.
“I can’t see you being a…” I grin as I try out her word, “jackholeto anyone.”
Her eyebrows raise in surprise. Leaning forward, she fidgets with the rubber giraffe her son is currently trying to decapitate with those two, razor-sharp teeth of his. My eyes magnetize to the swell of cleavage, but before I can get caught, I find my way back to my own shopping cart, taking my wandering, jackhole eyes with me.
Gripping the handle tightly, I smile as I navigate my cart to no longer pin hers to the canned food aisle.
“I wasn’t that nice to you that day, either,” she says, letting one shoulder rise and fall in a moment. “Let’s just say our jackholishness cross-cancels, okay?”
I slice a hand through the air. “Clean slate.”
She nods. “Clean slate.” Then, with her hands back on her cart, she’s about to say something when her phone rings. The way she scrambles for it makes my heart sink. I know that frantic searching. When the ringing taunts you as you hunt, your breath catches, and your heart is on stand-by as you kill yourself not to miss the call.
She wants this call, and that must mean it’s from someone special. Probably the father of that beautiful baby boy.
Her eyes pop to mine for a fleeting moment before they go to the screen and sheer disappointment washes over her. She looks back at me, handing me a completely fake and pacifying smile. Holding her finger up, she says, “will you excuse me?” before she answers.
I analyze a can of baked beans that I will definitely not be buying and have zero interest in. I try to pretend I’m not listening, but because we’re literally only feet from each other, we both know I’m listening.
“Okay. Sure. Yeah.” The call ends very quickly, and she shoves the phone into her purse, giving me what I know in my gut is her goodbye smile. “I got a call; I need to go.” She reaches into the basket, looping her arm under the carrier strap, lifting her son out.
I nod to her cart, almost barren but for a few items. “Everything okay?” Abandoning items in a rush doesn’t seem like her style. Then again, how the hell would I know?
She nods, adjusting the carrier on her arm. That’s gotta be heavy, and all of me is dying to lift it off her arm and carry it for her. But I know I can’t because I’m just Beau from Wrench Kings.
“I’m gonna push that up front and check out real quick, but yeah, everything's okay. I got a work call.”
Abandoning my cart, I begin pushing hers up front toward the bank of registers. "You don't have to..." she says, walking next to me as she carries her son in his seat. I peer down at Jett, who's still eyeing me with a smile on his face.
"He's a happy kid, huh?"
She snorts. "Yeah."