Briar
Itry to wipe the exhaustion from my face as I stumble through the grocery store aisles. Flashes of my very erotic dream about Captain Saxon Cole flicker behind my eyelids as I pass pasta and taco shells.
I only came to the grocery store for milk and bananas. That’s it. A normal, boring Thursday errand while Junie is occupied at her after-school art class.
What I absolutely didnotcome here for is the sight waiting for me in the produce aisle:
Captain Saxon Cole standing in front of the peach display like he’s interrogating them for state secrets.
He’s in jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt that looks illegal on his body. His arms are crossed—thick, veiny, tense—and he glowers at the fruit like it personally offended him.
I stop dead.
Blink.
Blink again.
Nope. Still here.
Still hot.
Still staring murderously at produce.
He picks up a peach, sniffs it, frowns, and puts it back. Then picks up another. Frowns harder. Okay, this is too good to pass up.
I clear my throat. “Do you always threaten your fruit before you buy it?”
Saxon’s head snaps toward me.
His stare hits like a controlled burn—low, hot, deliberate.
“Miss Tate,” he growls, like I’m his least favorite surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Didn’t expect to see you interrogating peaches,” I counter, moving closer. “Are they under arrest?”
His jaw flexes. “They’re all too soft.”
“Maybe they’re just scared of you.”
He stares. Long. Unblinking. My skin heats.
He looks me over—slow sweep, head to toe, unapologetic—like he’s checking for injuries, or weaknesses, or hidden weapons. Or maybe he’s just remembering pinning me in a school supply closet. His eyes drop to my mouth and stay there.
Too long. Way too long.
I swallow. “You okay?”
“No,” he says flatly, “I’m trying to buy peaches.”
“Ah.” I nod solemnly. “A life-or-death struggle.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely mocking you.”
His eyes flick upward, pinning me again. “You always tease men twice your size?”
“Only the ones who act like peaches are out to get them.”
