I nod. “Give me five.”
She smiles, appeased, and turns to walk away. “Oh, are you okay with the candle? You’re not sensitive to scents, are you?”
“It’s girly, but…” I look around the place, and it definitely has a different feel to it than it did ten days ago. “It smells nice.”
She looks so happy that I want to admit that coming home tonight was, for lack of a better word, nice. Yeah, coming home to someone was really fucking nice.
Instead, I turn around and go into my bedroom, shutting the door. It’s the one space she hasn’t touched, and I can’t help but notice how cold and bleak it feels.
My chest tightens.
Maybe living together was the worst idea I’ve ever had because she’s already getting under my skin—in a good way. And nothing good can come of that.
Chapter
Twenty
Callie
* * *
It feels surreal—walking next to a man in the grocery store as he pushes our cart is some serious domestic shit I never thought I’d be doing, let alone with Foster Davis.
“I figured you were a takeout kind of guy?” I eye the fruit as we walk through the produce section.
A few people have glanced our way. Foster is a little different than Hayes. While my brother almost always wears his ball cap out, Foster doesn’t seem to care as much. Maybe because of his reputation, people don’t approach him as much or don’t feel as comfortable as they do with Hayes.
“I’ll have you know that I can prepare a few meals.” He winks at me, and my stomach flips.
“Oh, I have to see this.” I stop and put a bag of red grapes in the cart.
“I’ll admit following a recipe annoys the shit out of me, but after a while, I kind of wing it with the measurements, and it still turns out pretty good.” He grabs a bunch of bananas. “Potassium is good for fetal growth.”
I purse my lips to stop from smiling. “Maybe you just want to do the shopping. Then you can make a list of everything I should eat.”
He chuckles, which is such a rare occurrence. I watch him for a second longer than I should. “Don’t tempt me.”
I lean in close, put my head on his shoulder and singsong, “Just so you know, I won’t follow it. I’m not like your usual girls.”
He pulls away and meets my gaze. “That’s why I like you.” I’m not sure the look I give him—one of surprise, probably—but he blinks a few times, seeming a bit flustered. “I mean… that’s why I like spending time with you… shit, you know what I mean.”
“Careful there, Reap, those sound like compliments.” I pat his chest and walk behind the cart to grab some kiwis.
Mostly, I step away because I need a little space. Him doing research on what I need to eat is endearing. Yes, maybe it’s a little controlling, but mostly endearing. It’s not as if he’s tying me down and force-feeding me. Great, now I’m thinking of being in bed with my wrists pinned to his headboard.
A woman comes along next to me, grabbing a plastic bag. “You’re cute together,” she whispers. She’s probably in her seventies, perfectly curled gray hair with a tint of red.
“Oh, we’re just…” I glance at Foster. He’s picking out a bag of nuts from the bins, and I have no doubt they’re whichever ones are good for pregnant women. “Friends.”
She takes the kiwi I was about to grab and touches my arm with her free hand. “Sweetheart, he doesn’t look at you like a friend.”
The urge to tell her our story washes over me. To unleash it to someone else so they can help me figure it out. The fact that I’m carrying his baby. How he’s my brother’s best friend. How he’s now my roommate. How confused I am about what I want, what he wants—why he’s being so thoughtful and helpful when most people would say he’s the last man I can trust, especially with my heart. But Foster looks around, still finding me at the kiwis, and wheels over the cart.
I can’t take my eyes off him as he approaches with that stern, thin-lipped look he wears all the damn time except when we’re alone.
“It’s always the ones who look rough who have the kindest hearts, I think. You should see my husband.” She chuckles. “They might not show it to everyone, but the ones who see it are pretty damn lucky, if you ask me. Heart of gold, those rough ones.” She pats my hand and looks at Foster before turning to her cart and putting the kiwis inside.
“Making friends?” Foster asks after she’s wheeled her cart to the other side of the produce section. “She warning you about hanging out with a guy covered in tattoos?”
