“I do like to keep the order. Protecting those who need it is my job.” He cut his eyes at her. “You seemed shocked when I showed up in my uniform.”
She shrugged and looked out the window as he maneuvered his way onto a frontage road. Sale tents were lined up side by side, each in a different shape. It was a beautiful day to be outdoors. He itched to hit the button and roll down the window, but he knew how women were about their hair.
“I was just surprised, that’s all. You never said you were a cop.”
“You never asked.”
Thick silence drifted through the cab of the truck.
“Since we are on the subject of cars and people, I’m surprised at your choice of vehicle.”
She met his gaze as her eyes, the color of sapphires, widened.
“Tan-colored Ford Taurus does not match you.”
“It was a hand-me-down from my father.” She looked away. “Not everyone can afford a new car payment.”
His gut clenched. Had he offended her?
“Aren’t you going to ask?” He slowed the truck to the parking spot allotted for vehicles.
“Ask what?”
“What kind of car I think you should be driving.”
She bit her lip, as if debating whether or not to ask.
He threw the truck in park and turned to face her. He rested his arm on the back of her seat. “You should be driving a luxury sports car, red or black. Probably red.” He sat back and smiled.
“Are you serious?” She narrowed her eyes. “That practically screams gold digger.”
“What? No, that’s not what I meant at all. It was a compliment.” Everyone wanted a red sports car.
She cocked her head. “So what does a luxury sports car say about my personality?”
“That you are refined, in a soft spoken way. You are accomplished in a way that few people are, yet you hide it away because you wouldn’t want to make others feel inferior.” He held her gaze. “How close am I?”
“You’re miles away, Sloan.” She opened the door and climbed out.
He grinned, liking how his name sounded on her lips.
***
Grace walked between the tented booths, searchingfor merchandise she considered diamonds in the rough. She’d gotten a great deal on the set of chairs because no one else could see past their ugly veneer to imagine what they could be. She was hoping for another great find.
Sloan walked beside her at an unhurried pace. He didn’t seem to mind her leisurely looking and never asked her to hurry up. It was totally out of character for a man.
“Hi, Sloan. Surprised to see you out today. Didn’t think you were much on shopping.” An old man behind a peanut cart greeted Sloan with a handshake while giving Grace a curious look.
“Looks like a good turnout.”
The old man nodded and looked around. “A lot better than last year.” He turned his kind eyes on Grace. “Who’s your pretty friend here?”
She shifted her weight as she felt her face heat a few degrees.
“Gene, this is Grace Witherspoon. She just moved to town.”
“Nice to meet you, Grace.” He stuck out his weathered hand. His grasp was firm yet gentle in her palm. “I’m Gene Alder. I’m the local peanut man around these parts.”
“Nice to meet you.” The aroma of boiled peanuts peaked her curiosity. “How much for a bag?”
“For you? Free.”
She looked up at him. “I can’t do that. I insist on paying you.”
He smiled and handed her a hot bag. “Call it a welcome present.”
She hesitated. If she didn’t take it, Gene would think her rude. She didn’t want to hurt the kind old man’s feelings. Her mouth watered, as she anticipated tasting the local fare.
“Thank you. That’s very kind.” She unrolled the paper bag and took out a peanut.
“These are the best peanuts in the south,” Sloan said.
She cracked the shell and spilled the peanut into her mouth. The salty flavor exploded on her tongue. “I can see why. They’re wonderful.”
Gene puffed out his chest and grinned as he filled another bag for the next customer in line. She followed Sloan to the next booth and held the bag out to him.
“Thanks.” He ate the peanut and tossed the shell onto the ground. “So how much more stuff are you looking for?”
She snorted. “You make shopping sound miserable.”
“I’m a guy. Shopping is miserable.”
“I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for.”
“Well, you need some kitchen furniture, a comfortable living room couch, maybe some chairs . . .”
She laughed and shook her head. “I don’t want to buy stuff to fill my house. I want to find things that will fit my life.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’re such a guy.”
“Can’t argue with you there.” He stopped in front of a large tent crammed with furniture. “So show me the difference.”
“What are you talking about?”
He nodded toward the tent and shoved his hands in his pocket. “Show me the difference between what would fill a house and what would fit a home.”
She gave him a probing gaze, certain he was making fun of her.