He moves back quickly and exits the car, walking around the hood. He’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt today. A look I’ve never seen on him. It’s like the Hulk met Hollister and had a giant muscly baby.
It suits him.
I take his hand as he helps me from the car.
“Am I then?”
“Are you what?” A line forms between his brows and he frowns.
“Your girl? For the purpose of our cover, I mean?”
The line deepens and a perverse satisfaction heats inside me. I might not make him hard when we fight. But I know how to piss him off.
“Let’s get what we need,” he grunts, opening the rear door for Monty to jump out.
We walk across the dirt toward the store with Denver’s hand resting on the base of my spine like it does when we’re in the city surrounded by people. But there’s no danger here. The store is deserted as we walk in and a rusty old bell chimes over our heads.
Denver looks around like he’s casing out the place before his shoulders soften a little.
“Go and grab what you want for yourself and Monty. I’ll come and find you in a minute.”
“What if we get lost? There’s probably another realm back there,” I tease, widening my eyes as I gesture to aisles that stretch on surprisingly far, spilling over with random cans and packets.
He shakes his head with a hint of a curl to his lips. “I’ll have my eyes on you, Sinclair. Now go.”
I pick up a plastic basket from a stand and wander off happily down the first aisle with Monty.
“What do you fancy, baby? Steak? Some eggs? I know you like scrambled eggs for breakfast. How about some smoked salmon too?”
Monty trots along happily beside me as I toss things into my basket. I stop at a display of syrups, running my finger along the glass bottles until I find the one I’m looking for.
“We don’t want him having any more reasons to be so surly all the time,” I tell Monty as I add the vanilla syrup to my haul.
I glance up and my eyes meet Denver’s over the top of the low shelving. He’s standing, talking to the shop owner, a small, kind-looking man with glasses. He says something to the man that makes him chuckle, but his eyes remain on me.
“He’s not funny,”I whisper, blowing out a confused breath.
Monty and I head up the next aisle and I take my time looking at the fruit, hovering where I can hear what Denver and the man are talking about.
“She’s strong,” Denver says.
My ears prick up and I pick up a melon giving it a squeeze as I pretend to study it.
“She’s coped with it really well. I’m so proud of her.”
Warmth fills my chest at the admiration in Denver’s voice.
“He’s proud,” I whisper to Monty, raising my brows. Monty stares back, his tail wagging. I bite my lip to stop a stupid smile forming on my face. I don’t care what Denver thinks about me. But it’s always nice to receive a compliment.
“Dixie’s a treasure. Bring her in next time she’s with you.”
“I will,” Denver replies.
I place the melon back down, the warmth in my chest moving to my cheeks in humiliation. Thank god he’s too far away to see. Of course he’s not talking about me. He’s talking about Dixie, the almost seven-year-old that he has photos of all around his cabin.
His eyes are on me as I glance up, but I turn and stroll back down the aisle in the opposite direction.
I recognize what I heard in his voice now. The admiration. The pride.The love.
