I made my way around a settee between the bookshelves as my stomach, once again, roared. “All right already. I’ll find a store.”
Our office, convenient in its main street location, sat across from the police station, and in an inspired bit of humor by the town's planning commission, a donut shop. Down the street, lights glowed in the windows of the businesses that hadn’t closed up shop for the night. From my spot, I could see a dress and hat shop, an antique store, a beauty shop, pharmacy, and bookstore. Hunting for a grocery store gave me the perfect opportunity to roam around and see what the town was all about.
I picked up the key taped to the inner side of the front door with the note “Our new home” attached and locked the office behind me before stepping onto the sidewalk. Park benches with quaint flowerpots on each end ate the space between gaslight lamps lining the bricked sidewalk. The streets, instead of concrete paving, wove an uneven path of cobblestones that turned around a curve toward my new apartment.
Leaving my car where it sat, I walked three store spaces--an old-fashioned ice cream soda shop, a craft store, and a photographer’s studio--to the market.
A bell jingled over my head as I stepped back in time twenty or thirty years. Definitely not of the super-store, big box variety with bright fluorescent lights and large rolling baskets, this one was comprised of short, glass front freezers and skinny aisles. Refrigerators stretched down one wall, and boxed and canned goods lined shelves through the center.
Not blessed with any sort of culinary gifts, I passed the fresh meat section, veering instead to the frozen pizza cooler. I snatched up a small pepperoni and sausage, said a silent prayer of gratitude for the creator of such wares, then roamed until I had two arms full of food. Hunger shopping.
A metal can of coffee escaped from my tilted pyramid of future hours in the gym and rolled down the aisle in front of me. I secured my purchases with one hand, then reached out in front of me with the other, wishing I possessed the magical power to stop the can’s forward motion with the will of my mind. Since I had no such skill, I chased the rolling Folgers until it came to a stop under the raised toe of a masculine and well-worn boot.
My gaze started at the boot, then ventured up a long leg, across a flat stomach and wide chest to the prettiest brown--no, chocolate colored--eyes I’d ever seen. I straightened up in a motion designed by the Cosmopolitan flirts of the world to be seductive, sexy even, but instead sent the rest of my groceries into a slow-motion cascade down my body. My arms flailed in a Funniest Home Videos attempt to save any item I could snatch from impending doom, but I ended up grabbing nothing more than air.
Heat raced along my nerve endings, probably singeing my hair as I death dropped to my knees to scoop up my purchases. He stooped next to me and gathered a bag of cookies and the package of condoms I’d picked up on a whim.
“Ribbed for my pleasure.” My voice squeaked and my eyes closed as I tucked the small box tight against my chest. Ribbed? For my pleasure? Oh, Lord.
“I like a girl who plans ahead.” He chuckled and took my elbow as we straightened. “You must be Grace.”
I cocked my head to one side, then nodded. Of course. Small town. Big gossip.
“I’ve known Rory for years, and you’re the only thing she has talked about all week.”
Oh, the accent. Every sound curved as it fell from his lips. Perfect, kissable lips.
Brushing a city girl case of weird stalker fear aside, I stretched my fingers out from beneath my groceries, and the pile wobbled a little to the left before coming to rest neatly against my chest. Warmth traveled its way up my arm as his hand clasped mine. He held on a few seconds longer than necessary, ending with a little squeeze at the end of the simple touch. “And…and you’re…?”
“Blane Chandler.” In a motion so smooth I hardly realized it happened, he relieved me of my groceries, set them atop a line of boxed instant potatoes in a perfectly stable tower of junk food, then laced his fingers through mine. “Come with me.”
“No.” I wrenched free and reached for my stuff, unimpressed by the caveman act.
With the gentle touch of his hand on my arm, electricity tingled along my skin. “Come on. Take a chance. It’s just dinner.”
I must have made some sign of assent, because he tugged my hand, pulling me down the aisle and out the door behind him. If he’d picked me up and carried me, I wouldn’t have been more helpless than I was at that moment. He tugged me across the street and up onto the curb before I dug my heels in and yanked away. What the hell was I doing? I’d let some random, and, okay, hot, stranger drag me behind him without once thinking he could be hauling me off to meet my death, and I hadn’t even had a drink yet.
“Stop.” I yanked my fingers out of his grasp and back to my side, squinting up at him. His raw beauty brought a flush of heat to my cheeks, and I reached down. “I have pepper spray in my purse.” With shaking fingers, I patted the bag on my shoulder.
He shook his head and chuckled. “City girls.” He waved a hand in a wide arc at the building in front of us. “I don’t know how y’all season your food up there in Illinois, but here in Texas, we have shakers.”
A diner? With the smells of home cooking wafting out the door? I took a deep breath and held it, savoring the aromas of cooked meats. “You brought me to a restaurant?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” My mouth watered at the thought of a decent meal, and my neglected stomach started a happy dance in tune to the growling inside.
“I think the special today is open faced roast beef and potatoes.” He held out his hand again. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”
I looked him up and down. Six feet of tall, semi-dark, and drool-worthy handsome and the offer of roast beef--had I stepped out of the office into heaven?
“Okay.” I slipped my palm against his and followed him inside. The box of ignored condoms at the market pushed all other thoughts right out of my head.
My heart hammered as he led me to a booth in the front corner of the building. I’d no more than slid in across from him when his carbon copy stepped up to the table. My mouth dropped open. The gene pool had opened up and provided the world two yummy specimens of perfection, and I, lucky traveler, sat gaping between them. “Two wins?”
“Hi.” The standing twin barely glanced at me. Instead, he turned a wary pair of eyes on his brother. “Did you bring back bread?” His accent, an English lilt, delighted my ears as much as the drawl I’d all but swooned over moments earlier.
Blane looked down at the table, then back up with a grin that robbed me of the ability to breathe. “Oh, come on, Jamie. I brought a customer.”
Jamie spun on his heel and stalked back to the counter, muttering as he went. “Bloody well forget it. I knew I should have sent Mum.”
Blane shook his head and raised his eyebrows as his gaze searched my face. “I was distracted.”
“All you have are excuses. You’re not getting any food until I have bread. You can starve.”
A woman, whose shade of blond matched my Miss Clairol number 001, and whose eyes mirrored those of the man opposite me, glided to the table and ran an adoring hand through Blane’s hair. “Oh, my little lover boy.” She pinched his cheek between her thumb and forefinger. “We can’t have roast beef without bread.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“You have to watch this one.