“What is it they say again about a man with big hands?”
He nearly trips over his own feet and chokes on his own saliva. “Did you…” He tilts his head. “Did you want me to answer that?”
“Nah,” I laugh as I lead us forward. “Think I got it.”
Not saying a word, Shepherd carefully steps between two shelves like he’s defusing a bomb. A cart squeaks past behind him and he instinctively shifts sideways…directly into a display of crystal figurines.
The entire shelf wobbles.
Time slows and I inhale sharply at the scene in front of me that seems to play in slow motion. Shepherd freezes, his eyes widening as the wobble continues. A tiny glass swan tips forward dramatically. Without thinking, he lunges forward, his massive hand catching the swan mid-fall, the other hand bracing the shelf.
Silence surrounds us as we stare at the tiny swan in his palm.
“Did you just make a game-saving interception in aisle seven?” I ask.
He exhales slowly. “I react well under pressure.”
I laugh loud enough that an elderly woman three shelves down glares at me over her bifocals.
“Put it back gently,” I whisper.
“I’m trying.”
His fingers look comically oversized around the delicate glass neck, but he eases it back onto the shelf. I choose not to tell him that he looks like he’s placing a sleeping newborn into a crib. It’s cute though and makes me smile. Shepherd Haynes may be a big tough guy on the field but the more I’m with him,the more I wonder if maybe he’s really just a big teddy bear of a man.
When the wobble settles and the crisis is averted Shepherd straightens, running a hand through his hair.
“I think that thing tried to take me out.”
I snicker. “It sensed weakness for sure.”
“I don’t have weaknesses.”
“You absolutely have weaknesses.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I mean, come on. You’re one aggressive sneeze away from committing mass ceramic homicide.”
His mouth twitches. “Noted. I’ll hold my breath.”
We move deeper into the aisle, and he keeps his arms tucked in, elbows tight to his ribs. I glance at him and burst out in laughter, feeling mildly guilty for bringing him in here.
“You don’t have to shrink yourself.”
“I’m not shrinking.”
“You’re walking like a T-Rex.”
“I am adapting.”
I grin as he picks up a porcelain figurine of a ballerina, examining it carefully.
“This one looks judgmental.”
“That’s because you’re holding it wrong.”
“There’s a correct way to hold a ceramic ballerina?”
