“That’s not fair. You never once mentioned butt-pinching as part of your gentlemanly ways. Besides, I’m still mad at you, so keep your hands to yourself.” I opened the fridge and pulled out some milk.
His gaze followed me as I deposited it into the cart and then he said, “See? That’s what you should have stipulated before we left. You leave a loophole, and I’m going to exploit the fuck out of it.”
“No. Really?” I deadpanned. “Walk,” I demanded. “Next fridge.”
“What? Don’t you trust me to be behind you?” His grin widened, and the spark in his eyes turned mischievous. “I’m wounded.”
“You’re starting to test my patience now.” I waved my finger at him and opened the next fridge, bending for my cheese.
“Really? Are you sure I can’t stay behind you?”
I snapped back up to standing so quickly I almost hit my head on the door. Just like I knew he would be, he was smirking, and his gaze was fixed firmly on my hip area. “Yes. I’m now one hundred percent positive. Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”
“You probably shouldn’t have. I’m really not a good shopper.”
I was figuring that out for myself.
“Just stay in front of me and keep your hands on the cart, Casanova. I’m not interested in you hitting on me...or my ass.”
“Have you consulted with your ass on that? I feel like she might be more agreeable.”
I stopped, put my hands on my hips, and glared at him. “You just pinched my ass. She’s definitely going to side with me.”
He offered me a lopsided smile that was somewhere between a sexy smirk and genuine amusement—and oddly adorable. “Will she side with me if I rub it better?”
“Can you reach that bread down for me?” I pointed at the bread on the top of the shelf.
He picked one loaf up and handed it to me. “That wasn’t a no.”
“It wasn’t a yes either.” I smiled and put the bread in the cart. “But for the record, the answer is no. You cannot rub my butt better.”
“So close.” He sighed and walked alongside me to the next aisle.
Conveniently, we were in the liquor aisle. This store’s layout made little to no sense to me, but hey—I happened to need liquor to deal with Brett’s new, playful mood.
I was becoming increasingly endeared to this side of him, which meant my anger was diminishing. And if I was no longer angry at him...
I grabbed the biggest bottle of wine I could find on the bottom shelf and put it right in the middle of the cart.
Brett’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a big bottle of wine.”
I met his gaze. “In the last five minutes you’ve pinched my ass, asked to rub it better, and asked me if I asked my ass whether you could touch it. If that’s conductive of the rest of this misguided attempt to fill my kitchen, then I’m going to need this big bottle of wine.”
He leaned over and picked it out of the cart. “You can’t drink all that by yourself.”
“You’re making me want to,” I told him before turning away. “Now, what did you want to talk about? The real reason we’re here and I’m not shouting at you.” I walked down the next aisle and pulled a jar of pasta sauce off the shelf.
He joined me as I was reading the back of it. “The article you sent Dad last night.”
My mouth formed a tiny “o” but I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. That article was a mix up of bitchiness and niceties, but was completely honest.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For the things you wrote. You didn’t need to—and shouldn’t have—written that after the way I treated you yesterday.”
The can clinked against the bottle of wine as I deposited it into the cart. “Well,” I replied in a voice just as low, moving down the aisle, “unless you had a complete personality transplant, you didn’t completely change. Everything I said was true.”
“I don’t get it, Lani. I spoke to you like shit. Why did you write something so nice?”
I sighed and looked down at the pasta I just pulled off the shelf. “Because...” I shrugged one shoulder, turning the pasta in my hands. A small lump formed at the base of my throat. “I don’t think you’re as bad a person as you want me to think you are, and...I was right.”
“You were right? How do you know? Maybe you’re just holding onto a part of me that no longer exists. Like a memory.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye before focusing back on the pasta. “Brett... Why the white rose?”
He didn’t answer me for the longest moment, but when he did, he said, “Because it’s pretty, like you.”
CHAPTER TEN
BRETT
Lani stilled. The pasta packet finally stopped crinkling in her grasp, and I ran my tongue over my dry lower lip.
A thick silence descended between us despite the noise of the store. My words hung on every strand of the silence, dancing between us.
What the fuck else was I supposed to say? Did she think I’d forgotten? That the rose and note were a damn fluke?
I needed her to talk to me. She needed to know that I was thankful for what she’d written. That she hadn’t taken my assholish attitude and ran with it. She could have written an absolutely scathing article and sent that to my father instead.
But she didn’t, because she was a fucking nice person. I acted like total shit, and she still didn’t rip me to pieces in that document.
She could have.
She should have.
I would have deserved every word.
Lani finally moved. She tucked her dark hair behind her ear, put the pasta in the cart, and straightened. Her hand rested at the edge, the hot pink of her nails bright against the black of the cart. “You could have just said it was because it was thoughtful.”
“But then I’d be lying,” I said honestly, my lips pulling up to one side.
She dropped her gaze before she looked up. Her dark, brown eyes fixed themselves onto mine, and while she wasn’t smiling at me, she wasn’t...not. Her bottom lip was pouted out, and the corners of her mouth were turned up the tiniest amount. “I’m amazed you remembered.”
I grinned and leaned forward on the cart, resting my forearms over the handrail. “Lani, I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve apologized and meant it. I’m not likely to forget those.”
“One hand? Sheesh. I take back my comments about you being a closet nice guy.” She side-skipped down the aisle to the other cooking sauces.
“Ah ah,” I said, pushing the cart the way I was leaning on it. Then I held up one hand with four fingers up and my thumb curled into my palm.
She flicked her gaze toward me for a second before she met my eyes. “I think if you’re trying to be Spock, it’s fingers together, gap in the middle.”
“Four times,” I said. “I’ve apologized four times in my life and meant it.”
And every time, you were the one I apologized to.
She stilled yet again, her mouth slightly open. I knew the moment my words sunk in because she closed her mouth and swallowed. A light flush ran up her cheeks, and it was in that moment she broke our eye contact. She put down the sauce she was holding and walked around to the next aisle, leaving me standing where I was.
Fuck, this was so hard.