Page 27 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

“This is better.”

I squint at the box. “This is rabbit food.”

He sniffs his nose in the air. “That’s because rabbits have excellent taste.”

Eyebrow raised, I point at his chest. “You’re really walking around here calling me out when you’re eating rabbit food?”

He looks at me, straight faced. “Rabbits would never touch those refined sugar treats.”

I hold the box up, smirking. “I'll stick to this for now, but throw that in the cart if you want it for you.”

Turning, I head to the next aisle to grab some instant noodles, thinking that would be a great choice for tonight’s dinner.

He’s grumbling something about processed food, but I’m already walking away to grab snacks.

My arms are full of different chip bags.

His face is sour as he eyes them.

“Stop judging me.” I lower the bags into the trolly, spotting his organic selection of foods. Kale, apples, broccoli, potatoes, meat, and something fermented in a jar.

“Too late.” His eyes drop, and he leans in, picking up a family bag of sour cream and onion chips. “This is what you call food?”

I mock gasp as I snatch the bag, clutching it to my chest and patting it like a newborn baby. “Food? These are the most delicious life-saving snacks.”

“If your life depends on processed foods, maybe reevaluate your choices.”

I lower the bag gently into the cart. “Don’t start with me, Mr. Organic.” Rolling my eyes, I pick up a bag of quinoa. “You know who eats this? People who pretend to like it.”

He snorts a laugh as his eyes lock with mine. A silent battle, but there's something that makes my toes curl inside my shoes. A flicker of heat... Or am I imagining it?

“You say that now.” His voice pulls me back to our argument. “But when your blood sugar crashes from all that processed shit, you’ll be begging for my quinoa salad.”

I wave him off and grab a packet of mac and cheese. “If it takes me having a blood sugar crash to eat quinoa, just let me go.”

We make our way to the produce. I go to the red apples that are on sale, grabbing five and dropping them in a bag.

“These look good. See, I can do healthy.” I wink at him.

Before I put the last one in, he grabs my hand and takes the apple from me to hold it up, the light catching on the skin. “They’re coated in wax and pesticides.”

I meet his pinched face with a smirk. “They’re coated in deliciousness. Plus, nothing a wash can’t fix.”

He grabs one from the shelf, holding it up in the air like a gem. “This is an apple. One free of wax and pesticides.” He bites into it like a TV commercial, and I’m a little transfixed as juice trickles out of his mouth, but his tongue swipes it up quickly.

Daring me to try it, he holds it out for me. Because I want to prove him wrong, I take a bite and chew it slowly, glaring at him. “It tastes the same, but mine isn’t triple the price.”

He leans in, eyes narrowed. “You just don’t have a refined palate.”

My hand lands on my chest in mock horror. “Okay, fancy pants. Next, you’ll be trying to tell me to drink sparkling water.”

He grins. “Actually, I drink Kombucha.”

I throw my hands up with a giggle. “Oh, well, that explains everything.” I spin around, ready to check out. “I’m done with your organic, quinoa, kombucha, fermented self. I’m ready to go home. You coming?”

“Did you try my fermented tea or yogurt?” His footsteps follow behind.

“Hell no,” I reply, not looking back as I head to the empty register, but as I do, I reach for more peanut butter. I grab the generic brand, and he goes for the organic.

“This one,” I say.

“Not happening,” he argues, shaking his head.

“I saw it first,” I argue, gripping the jar tighter in my fingers.

“We can get both.”

“That's a waste.”

“They say marriage is all about compromise.”

“Fine,” I say with a huff, putting my peanut butter jar in the cart.

“See? Compromise. I win.”

I’ll show him who wins . Glaring at him, I grab the marshmallow fluff off the shelf and some cookies and put them in the cart. His jaw works, and I expect a comeback at my petty response.

“And I win,” I say triumphantly, straightening my spine.

He cocks an eyebrow. “What will you do with that stuff?”

“I’m going to eat it and think of you with every bite.” I smirk.

His eyes glint as they lock on mine. “Be careful,” he warns. “You might start craving me too.”

I already do, but I don’t tell him that. “I’d rather crave rabbit food.”

He steps closer, the teasing in his voice is gone and replaced by an edge. “Keep telling yourself that.”

My heart skips; just once. I hate that he knows what I'm feeling. I spin the cart around with way more force than necessary, walking off with my head high, calling over my shoulder without looking back. “Last one to the checkout pays.”

“Don’t start what you can't finish, wife.”

We are side by side at the checkout, unloading our crazy haul of groceries onto the conveyor belt, organic kale next to rainbow cereal, two peanut butter, apples, instant noodles, fermented foods, quinoa next to marshmallow fluff. It’s utter chaos, like us.

When I turn, I catch him watching me. There’s something soft in his gaze that makes my skin warm.

“What?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

I glance at him for a moment longer than I should before I roll my eyes, turning back to the groceries, muttering, “Weirdo.”

He speaks under his breath so the cashier can't hear him. “Yeah. You too.” A smile tugs at my lips despite my efforts to hide it.

As we exit the store with our bags, it’s raining heavily. I’m not scared of a bit of rain, so I begin walking into the thick of it to get to the car.

But the wind picks up, and I struggle to see in front of me. I spot an awning and make a beeline for it.

My cami is sticking to my body, but I have a bag close to my chest. His white top clings to his muscles like a second skin. His forearms glisten from water. I look away to stop myself from staring at him as I wait for the storm to pass.

“Fucking hell,” he spits.

I adjust the bags in my arms, and one of them bursts open, the contents going in different directions. Cursing, I rush to grab them, but he snatches my wrist just as I’m about to take a step.

“Don’t,” he says.

I freeze. My heart skips a beat at the unexpected touch. I look at him, my hair sticking to my face. His blue eyes are intense, and his jaw is set in a way that suggests he’s not going to back down.

“I’ll be quick,” I say.

He holds my gaze for a second, his thumb brushing gently over my wrist where he’s holding me. The rain beats down harder.

“You’re not going out there,” he says. “I’ll go.”

I look down at his hand and then back up to his face. “I’m fine.” I need to prove I can handle this myself. It’s a small thing, but it matters. I’ve been taking care of myself for so long that accepting help, even for something trivial, feels like surrendering a piece of my independence.

I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he steps closer. “Please don’t.”

His eyes drop to my cami, then flick back up to my face, and there’s a darkness there that makes me shiver in the best way.

I swallow roughly, trying to regain some composure, but the pull between us is undeniable now.

“You’re really bossy for a guy who spent twenty minutes picking out overpriced apples.”

His lips curve into a smile, but there’s something deeper in his expression now. “And you’re really stubborn for a woman who’s about to catch a cold over sugar.”

He doesn’t move back, his hand still gently holding my wrist, though he’s aware of how close we are. His thumb absently traces a small circle against my skin, sending an electric current up my arm.

I look up at him, my eyes searching his face, and what I see makes my breath catch.

The usual guarded confidence is gone, replaced by something vulnerable.

His eyes have softened at the corners, pupils dilated against the blue.

There’s a slight furrow between his eyebrows, not of frustration but of restraint, like he’s fighting an internal battle.

His lips are slightly parted, and the muscle in his jaw twitches.

For a split second, the distance between us seems to shrink.

The playful barrier has cracked, leaving something raw in its place.

“You’re making this weird,” I finally whisper.

He swallows, his fingers tightening around my arm just slightly, enough to make my skin tingle.

“I’m not trying to make it weird. Just…” He pauses.

“I can do it. Stop trying to be my hero.” I try to sound casual despite the confusing flutter in my chest.

He lets out a breath, a small chuckle breaking the intensity of the moment.

“Okay, okay. I’ll hold the bags. You go.”

He steps back slightly, releasing my wrist but lingering close.

A small, relieved laugh slips from my lips, even though my pulse is still racing. “I’ll make this quick.”

He nods as his lips curve up.

I sprint out into the rain. My feet slip slightly on the wet pavement, but I catch myself and keep going, refusing to give up.

I reach the cookie package just as it begins to slide toward the gutter. My cold, wet fingers close around it just in time. I hold it up like a trophy, the rain pouring down on my face.

“ Got it,” I yell, but my breaths come faster. My heartbeat is a little more erratic from the chase. I scan the concrete, spot both peanut butters and kale, and snatch them up.

When I turn to head back, I’m startled to find Oliver still standing under the awning... He listened to me, and that sends an expected warmth through me despite the cold rain.

I’m out of breath, and my soaked clothes cling to me in a way that makes me feel naked.

He watches me, his clothes wet too, his abs visible through his shirt, and the way the rain beads on his skin makes me want to lick him all over.

When I’m back under the awning, my focus stays on the food, but he’s looking at me differently.

There’s something in his eyes, something that wasn’t there before.

It makes my pulse spike. I find myself shifting slightly, a subtle motion I can’t quite explain.

He’s a little hesitant, the teasing smile from earlier fading.

“You really risked your life for those?” He says it almost absently, his voice rougher than it should be.

My heart skips again, but I can’t tell if it’s from the run or something else. I smile, shaking the water from my hair.

“For the record, I saved your food, too.” I glance at his groceries, his precious kale and peanut butter still intact.

All of a sudden, rain falls harder.

He pulls me gently back toward the awning, my body now pressed against his as I stumble slightly. We’re close… so close. I can feel his warmth against me. His hand is still wrapped around me, but it feels like something more.

“You risked hypothermia for that?” He gestures at the dripping packages.

I sniff, hugging the cookies to my chest. “They’re delicious.”

As we stand, the humor fades. He looks at me, water dripping from my hair and face.

“You really don’t care, do you?” he rasps.

I frown, glancing up at him, unsure of how to handle the shift. I try to shake it off with a laugh. “Care about what?”

“About what you eat, what you spend money on. You just... go for whatever’s easiest and cheapest.”

My smile drops a bit and I straighten as it hits me in the stomach. “Not all of us grew up with the luxury of being picky. Sometimes you take what you can get.”

He falters. “I didn’t mean—” he starts.

“Yeah, you did.” I brush past him, ready to get out of here.

He hesitates, then follows me into the rain, the bags still in his arms. “Wait.”

I keep walking, muttering, “Just drop it, okay?”

He stops me with a hand on my arm, his voice firm but not unkind. “That’s not what I meant.”

I turn to face him, the rain causing my hair to stick to my face. “Then what did you mean?”

He looks at me, something unspoken passing between us. Finally, he sighs. “I just… You deserve better.”

My expression softens at his unexpected sincerity, but I quickly cover it with sarcasm. “So, what, kale is supposed to fix my life?”

He smirks faintly, his hand still on my arm. “Maybe not. But it pains me to think that you’ve had to struggle.”

I pull away gently, shaking my head. “There's so many kids who grew up without, not just me.”

He watches me for a beat, then shrugs lightly. “Yeah, but I’m not standing here with them. I’m standing here with you.”

I turn and walk to his car, mulling over his words.

You deserve better. Maybe trying his fancy kale wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Not because I think it’ll magically improve my life, but because there’s something touching about his concern.

And I’m curious about the things that matter to him.

As we get to the trunk, I finally break the silence, realizing I was childish with my outburst, and I want to bring back the peace between us.

“ You know... I might try kale. Just once.”

He grins. “See? I’m rubbing off on you.”

I glance at him sideways, fighting back a smile as I playfully bump his arm with mine. “Don’t push your luck.”

He closes the trunk, and we climb into the car.

Memories spill from my lips as we settle inside, and I keep my eyes forward, watching the rain hit the glass.

“We didn’t really get storms like this in the foster homes.

The roof would leak even if it was just drizzling.

I used to pray it wouldn’t rain, just so my bed stayed dry. ”

He pauses, twisting to look at me. “You never told me that.”

I shrug, trying to brush it off. “Not really the type of thing you bring up, is it?”

A tingle sweeps up the back of my neck and across my face as soon as the words leave my mouth.

I don’t know why I shared that. Something about him is making me slip up, and I’m not sure if I’m grateful or terrified.

I risk a glance at him, expecting pity, but find only quiet understanding in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says simply, starting the car. “For telling me more about your past.”

We drive in silence for a few minutes, but it’s not uncomfortable. The rain starts to ease up, but the moment still lingers between us.

At home, we gather the bags and walk inside. I smirk. “I’ll make dinner. But only if you promise not to lecture me about kale.”

He pauses at the island, giving me a sidelong glance. “Sold.”

I hide my glee, knowing he’s about to eat the most processed instant noodles, and I’ll make him love every second of it.