She winked, self-consciously smoothing down the front of her green romper as she headed toward the store. Upon entering, she tried to search him out, but she didn’t see him. She was bemused by the feeling of disappointment replacing her anticipation.
Grabbing an arm basket, she moved through the aisles, figuring he’d already left.
Kneeling, she contemplated two different types of organic dog biscuits. She opted for Newman’s Own because Fred had turned his nose up at the other brand last time. She grabbed the box and rose to her feet.
“He likes the peanut butter.”
“Jesus Christ!” she cursed, jumping at the sound of his voice in her ear. Turning to give him an accusatory look, she informed him, “You have the aura of a stalker.”
His eyes danced down to the V in her romper, lingered appreciatively for a second, then back up to her eyes, before responding, “You have the situational awareness of a victim.”
Mac knelt, his shoulder brushing her thigh as he reached for the flavored biscuits. When he straightened, handing them to her, his expression held a note of amusement at her flushed cheeks.
Cassidy took the box from him, recovering from the sizzle that had shot through her at the innocent contact. It had been innocent, right? “Is this how you stole my dog? With peanut butter biscuits?”
He chuckled. “Your dog needed attention and affection.” As he stepped past her, he leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Like his owner.”
Blood raced to her cheeks in a rush of embarrassment. Her watering eyes flicked around the building as though he had broadcast the words, making sure everyone knew how desperate her need had been. She glared at his retreating back; it was unnecessarily cruel to throw that back in her face.
At the end of the aisle, he glanced back, pausing when he noticed her stricken expression. Cassidy ducked her head and turned, running a hand through her hair, and walked the other way.
“Fuck. No. Wait, Day, I didn’t mean…”
“Cassie, sweet girl.” Marge appeared from the stock room like an angel of mercy. She was sending a warning glare over Cassidy’s shoulder. “I was hoping you’d come in. Come on to the back here; I want to show you the new boat covers we have for winter.”
Cassidy didn’t know what she was talking about—didn’t care—she was thankful for the escape. Smiling at Marge, she slipped by her into the back room. Once she had taken a few steps into the safety of the “Employees Only” area, she noticed a wooden desk with a computer monitor on it, the store visible on the screen.
Marge had seen and watched the interaction, thus her impeccable timing.
Now, Cassidy watched as Mac stared at the door they’d disappeared through, contemplating ignoring the sign. His eyes then flicked to the security camera, and Cassidy held her breath as though he was the one who could see her. Jaw tensing, he glared into the lens long enough to make Cassidy light-headed before he turned and headed to the front.
Cassidy released her breath and sagged against the desk.
Marge folded her arms over her chest, looking like a hillbilly in her bib overalls and flannel shirt underneath. “Cassidy. You and him got something going on more than property rights.”
Cassidy denied it. “We don’t.”
“Mmhmm. Who’s the last man you ran away from? Who’s the last man to whisper something in your ear and shake you to your core? I’ll go out there and drag that boy in here by his ear.”
Cassidy looked over at Marge, tempted to let her do it so she could see Mac dragged by his ear—she had no doubt Marge would do it. “It’s just… We clash. It started with Fred.” Lie. It started with Mac hitting on her. “We go back and forth—one day on, one day off. I’m too sensitive sometimes.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It is what it is. I have to make my own peace with him. And so do you.”
She scoffed. “That devil doesn’t know what peace is.”
Cassidy looked at her impatiently. “Then why are you lecturing me?”
“He doesn’t look at me the way he looks at you; he doesn’t chase after me when I run.” Marge said pointedly, “Of course, I don’t run.”
Cassidy passed off the observations. “He thinks I’m anorexic, and he’s trying to get on my good side so he can use my dock. Trust me, his motivations aren’t flattering, and they’re mostly self-serving.”
Marge looked her over. “You could stand to put on some weight. You’ve lost quite a bit.”
“I’m working on it.”
“And sweet girl, if you think this is about a dock, you’re in a fool’s paradise,” Marge imparted on a heavy tone before turning and walking out.