In the toiletries aisle, she stood in front of the shampoo options, slightly overwhelmed by the choices.
"What do you usually get?" Ghost asked.
"I don't know. Whatever's on sale." She grabbed a bottle of something that claimed to smell like coconut.
Ghost watched her, arms crossed, leaning against the cart. "You need anything else?"
She looked at the items in the cart, or at least, the items she could see on top. Practical. Basic. The bare minimum to exist in someone else's space for a few days. "I think I'm good."
"You sure? We're here. Get what you need."
There was something about the way he said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was already decided she'd be staying with him indefinitely, that made her chest feel tight and full at the same time.
She grabbed a few more things, a hairbrush, face wash, deodorant, a cheap phone charger in case hers died, then they headed to checkout.
The ashier started scanning items. Beep. Beep. Beep. Rachel watched, mentally tallying what she'd grabbed. The shirts. The shorts, three pairs, because Logan had insisted. Shampoo. Deodorant. Face wash.
Then something black and lacy slid across the scanner. Beep.
Rachel's brow furrowed. She didn't grab that.
Another piece. Burgundy lace. Beep.
Then another. Emerald green. Beep.
Her head snapped toward Ghost. "Wait, I didn't grab those."
He just smiled. That infuriating, knowing smile that said he knew exactly what he'd done.
"Logan—"
Navy. Beep. Plum. Beep. Black again. Beep.
Six pairs of underwear, the exact ones she'd been looking at and put back, sliding across the scanner one by one. The cashier didn't even blink, just kept scanning while Rachel's face heated.
"That's... those aren't..." She gestured at the growing pile of her intimate apparel now sitting on the counter for everyone to see.
The total flashed on the screen. One hundred and twenty-eight dollars.
Rachel immediately reached for her wallet. "Okay, let me—"
Ghost was already sliding his card into the reader, his body angling to block her access to the machine. He didn't even look at her, just waited for the transaction to complete, one hand casually resting on the card reader like a barrier.
"Logan, you don't have to—"
The machine beeped. Transaction approved.
He finally looked at her then, giving her that look. The one that saiddon't argue with me.The one that was somehow both stern and affectionate at the same time.
She closed her mouth, her wallet still in her hand. But she wasn't done with this conversation.
The cashier bagged everything, including the six pairs of lace and silk that Ghost had apparently memorized from watching her atthe drawer. Rachel took the bags, her face still warm, and headed for the exit.
Ghost followed, completely unbothered, that small smile still playing at the corner of his mouth.
Ghost loaded the bags into the truck bed while Rachel climbed into the passenger seat, her jaw set. When he slid behind the wheel, she turned to face him.
"You didn't have to do all of that."
