"What's so funny?" I eye her as we come to the end of the aisle, next to a display of salad dressings.
"I just... I know you aren't a parent. Most people don't refer to an eight-month-old baby as akid."
I shake my head. "You're right there. I do not have kids."
Immediately she says, "yeah, I know."
I stop, just feet from the self-check station. "Youknow?"
She gives me a knowing smile like the answer is so obvious.
"What?" I ask again as she lowers Jett in his carrier to the ground. Pulling from the front, she brings the cart to the scanning area and begins taking out the items.
"How old are you?" she asks discreetly.
Just the way she changed her voice to ask that question has me realizing that I'm into Rebecca Reid, and she hasn't even considered me as anything but a former jackhole with a potential broken heart and the affinity to overtalk.
"Twenty-six."
Her eyes widen a moment before she focuses on the carton of oatmeal she's dragging over the red laser. "I figured. And I just... you'retoo youngfor kids."
I have the sudden urge to defend myself against her statement. Why? I have no idea. The argument that a man my age could and can father children has never been on my radar whatsoever. And as she scans the container of chia seeds, I hear myself saying, "I am not too young for kids."
Our eyes hold as her hand hovers over the scanner, a quart of milk hanging in the balance.
“What do you do for work?” I ask, pivoting the conversation because I know my time with her is quickly running out, and I have to know what has her running out of here.
Immediately she looks away, scanning the last item and slipping it into the reusable bag she brought with her. She fishes her debit card out of her wallet and feeds the machine.
“I’m a driver forWheel Get You.”
I blink. “You’re a rideshare driver?” I had no expectations, and yet her answer surprised me.
“For now, yeah. I just moved to town a few months ago. Got the keys to my new house last week.”
I don’t even realize it’s my perfect opening and I don’t even have the opportunity to test the question out before I ask it because it flies off my tongue responsively. “Your husband is fine with you driving strangers around all day?”
She puts her card back and lifts the bag from the counter, one arm weighed down by groceries, the other by her son, which she lifts off the floor with a groan.
“First of all,” she says, her tone spiky and defensive. Something about the way she serves up those three words makes my skin hot. “No oneletsme do anything. I am smart and responsible and make choices for myself accordingly.” The edge falls away from her tone as she takes in my soft expression. I wasn’t trying to be offensive and it’s just now that she realizes that. “And secondly, it’sjustme.”
It’s just me.
Those words are so goddamn sweet they almost undo the pain of my father’s last words to me.Almost.
They certainly catch and absorb my whole focus.
“It was nice talking to you. And...it wasnice... seeing you again, Beau." She nods before turning on her heel and walking straight through the open double doors.
After I snap out of my Rebecca and Jett Reid trance, I realize one of her grocery items got stuck in the bottom of her cart. Reaching down, I lift the bottle of lanolin…nipple cream. There’s a cartoon on the box of a faceless child slung over the breast of a cartoon mother. I know this is cream for a breastfeeding mom but I can’t help the erection that happens right there at self check when I imagine Rebecca Reid putting that cream on her nipples.
I take it back to my shopping cart with me and set it down next to my nippleless chicken breasts.
Because buying this will give me a legit reason to see her… if only just one more time.
6
Beck