“I appreciate it. Truly.”
“You don’t spend time with Hazel?”
“We’re friendly enough to grab lunch or sometimes we’ll get together to write or brainstorm but it’s different. I mean,”—I pause, the sentiment not quite right—“we used to be closer before her sister passed away, but the loss has understandably changed her. We’re more like work friends now, not personal ones.”
“Did she tell you what happened?”
“They went to Vermont for a girls’ weekend, I think, just to get away. That night Portia ran out to get them snacks. It was dark and rainy and Hazel said it looked like someone forced her off the road.”
“Not that she just lost control?”
“I’m not sure. We haven’t talked about it much. I didn’t want to upset her. I kind of assumed she thought maybe a deer had jumped out.”
“Could be. Did you ever meet Portia?”
“A couple of times but just in passing really.” Needing a subject change, I ask the only thing I can think of. “Does anyone ever call you Thomas?”
He grunts in response, and I can feel a smile pulling at the corner of my lips.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Most people call me Oakden.”
“That’s so…boring.”
“No one has ever accused me of being fun.”
I stick my tongue out at him as he sets the basket on the counter, the girl behind the register blushing furiously as she blinks at the man beside me.
Trust me, girl, I get it.
“Did you find everything you needed?” she squeaks and I smile brightly at her before handing over a reusable bag.
“We did, thank you so much,” I say as she fumbles with the scanner. I glare at Tom and he meanders toward the door, the girl heaving a breath as she visibly settles down.
“This looks like a fun time.”
I glance at her name tag and nod. “It will be. Oh my gosh, I love your nails!” I tell her, the pretty pink color adorned with sparkly silver dots. “I can’t remember the last time I had mine done. I usually get the press-on ones, but I haven’t had time.”
“I can never keep those on,” she says as she laughs. “I get one,maybe twodays out of them.”
We continue making small talk as I pay for everything. “Thanks so much, Anna,” I say before Tom steps up and takes the bag from me, rendering the poor girl speechless again. Shoving him toward the door, I give her a little wave and then huff as we make our way into the parking lot.
“Where to next?”
“Home, but youcan’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That!” I motion toward the store as he opens the passenger door of his SUV so I can climb in. “How are you going toblend inif that’s how women react to you?”
“I thought you were worried about the kids.”
“I was, but now I evidently have to worry about grown women being catatonic at the sight of you.”
He chuckles, the sound unexpected and throaty, and I resist the urge to squeeze my thighs together becausedamn, that’s sexy.
