Page 15 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis (In The Heart of A Valentine #17)

Chapter

Nine

NAOMI

The automatic doors at Schnucks slid open with a whoosh, and I grabbed a shopping cart from the line of silver baskets. Saturday afternoon grocery shopping wasn’t my favorite activity, but my refrigerator had reached that sad state where condiments outnumbered actual food three to one.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the list I’d made earlier. Salmon for tomorrow’s dinner. Greek yogurt. That olive oil I’d been craving. Nothing exciting.

The produce section was always so cold I froze whenever I needed to pick a mix of fresh herbs and ripe fruit. I was examining a pile of round oranges when I heard a toddler in full meltdown mode.

“Mommy, I want the cookies! I want the cookies now!”

The little boy couldn’t have been more than three, his face puffy and streaked with tears as he arched his back in the shopping cart. His mother looked like she was about two seconds away from a breakdown, her black hair escaping from a messy ponytail, and exhaustion written across her young face.

“Baby, we talked about this,” she said. “We’re getting healthy food today. We can make cookies at home.”

“I don’t want home cookies! I want store cookies!”

The tantrum was reaching epic proportions, and I could see other shoppers shooting disapproving looks in their direction. The mother’s shoulders hunched forward like she was trying to make herself invisible.

I’d been that mother once. Not literally, but I’d been the woman in public falling apart while strangers judged every choice I made. It was a special kind of hell.

“Excuse me,” I said, approaching their cart with what I hoped was a friendly smile. “Your little man has excellent taste in cookies.”

The mother looked up with confusion written across her face. “I’m so sorry. He’s usually not like this, but he missed his nap and?—”

“Honey, you don’t need to apologize to me. I’ve got a God-child who once threw himself on the floor of Target because I wouldn’t buy him a toy dinosaur.” I crouched down to the toddler’s eye level. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Brandon,” he sniffled as his sobs reduced to hiccups.

“Brandon is a strong name. You know what strong boys like Brandon need?”

“Cookies!” he shouted, and I laughed.

“Sometimes cookies, but other times you’ll need energy for all that strength. And you know what gives you the best energy?” I picked up a banana from the display nearby. “These yellow power bars. They’re like superhero food.”

Brandon glared at the banana, then his glare softened, and curiosity took over. “Superhero food?”

“Absolutely. Do you know who Curious George is?”

His face brightened. “Yes!”

“George eats them all the time, and he can swing from trees. That’s pretty superhero-ish, don’t you think?”

His mother was watching our interaction with relief and amazement. “Can you say thank you to the nice lady, Brandon?”

“Thank you,” he whispered, accepting the banana like it was made of gold.

“You’re welcome, baby.” I stood up and turned to his mother. “You’re doing great, Mama. These little phases pass quicker than you think.”

“Thank you so much. I was starting to think I was the worst mother in St. Louis.”

“Not even close. Trust me.”

As I walked away, I heard Brandon asking his mother if they could get more “superhero food,” and I couldn’t help but smile. Crisis averted.

I was debating between organic and regular carrots when a voice from the next aisle over sent heat shooting down my skin.

“Let me help you with that, sir. These shelves are too damn high for normal people to reach.”

My heart felt like it backflipped in my chest. Christian.

I abandoned my carrots and peeked around the endcap display of Halloween candy. Sure enough, there he was in the cereal aisle, reaching up to grab a box of Cheerios for an elderly man who couldn’t have been more than five-foot-five.

“Much obliged, young man,” the older gentleman said. His voice had a slight tremor. “These stores aren’t designed for folks like me.”

“No, sir, they’re not.” Christian handed him the box, and a smile curled up his lips and suddenly my stomach was fluttering. “You need anything else while I’m here?”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m looking for that instant oatmeal with the fruit already in it. My wife used to buy it, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

Without hesitation, Christian walked him over to the next section, scanning the shelves until he found what the man was looking for. “Is this it? The peaches and cream?”

“That’s the one! Helen loved these oats. I think I might get more than one.”

The old man said his wife’s name in the past tense, and gentle, like he was handling something precious. Christian must have heard it too because his expression softened.

“She sounds like she had good taste.”

“Fifty-eight years of marriage, and she never steered me wrong. Not once.”

They chatted for another minute about Helen and her legendary apple pies, and I found myself rooted to the spot, watching Christian listen to this stranger’s stories.

When they parted ways, my eyes followed the old man.

His steps were lighter, like someone caring enough to listen had lifted some invisible weight from his shoulders.

“Small world.”

I spun around to find Christian standing behind me, his smile warm and slightly amused. He was wearing dark jeans and a dark gray sweater that hugged his muscular chest. I sucked back salvia that threatened to drip from my lips.

“Christian. Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” His eyes scanned my face in detail. “I didn’t know you did your own grocery shopping.”

I frowned and chuckled. “Why?”

“Surely Naomi Blackford would have her groceries delivered.”

“Because I’m too good to go into the grocery store?”

He smirked. “Quite the opposite. Maybe it’s because I want to cater to you, and in turn have decided that that’s the type of service you would enjoy.”

Heat assaulted me as a blush rose into my cheeks.

“I um…” I laughed, nervously. A ridiculous nervous chuckle too. “I needed some fresh air tonight. No catering, unfortunately.”

“Hmm… we might have to change that.”

My clit became sensitive suddenly and I cleared my throat.

“Maybe next time. Tonight, however, I need a good home cooked meal.”

“Home cooked, huh? What’s in your cart?”

I glanced down at my nearly empty cart, suddenly self-conscious about my lack of domestic skills. “The beginnings of good intentions.”

He laughed, and the sound sent warmth spreading through my body. “That’s honest. I respect that.”

“What about you? Let me guess—ingredients for some elaborate meal you’re going to cook from scratch.”

“I was thinking about making pasta tonight. Nothing extravagant, just something that doesn’t come from a box.”

I nodded.

“You were good with that little boy,” Christian said.

I sucked in my laughter. “You saw me?”

“Yes,” he pulled his bottom lip in with his teeth then rubbed both lips together. “It was the child that initially drew my attention but… seeing you held me in place. You have a way about hypnotizing me, Naomi.”

“Or maybe you’re a stalker,” I teased.

“Or maybe that.”

My nipples hardened and I fought a smile but could still feel my face brighten. I pushed my cart forward, needing something to do with my hands. “You were pretty good with Mr. Cheerios yourself.”

“Mr. Cheerios?”

“The gentleman you helped. What was his wife’s name? Helen?”

Christian nodded, falling into step beside me as I moved toward the avocados. “Fifty-eight years of marriage. Can you imagine?”

“My parents are working on forty-four years. Sometimes I watch them and wonder what that must feel like.”

“What, what, must feel like?”

I picked up an avocado, testing its ripeness with my thumb. “Being so sure of someone that you build a whole life around them. Trusting that they’ll still be there when you wake up every morning.”

A tingle of heat slid down my throat. This was the type of conversation I usually avoided. It opened doors in my mind and made me wrestle with thoughts I didn’t need.

“You don’t think that’s possible?” Christian asked quietly.

I set down the avocado and picked up another one, buying myself time. “I think it’s possible for some people. People who know better than I do.”

“Or maybe people who are just brave enough to give love a chance.”

Our eyes met across the produce display, and something passed between us that felt too intimate for a grocery store. I could see understanding in his expression and sympathy and desire that made my pulse quicken.

“These avocados are perfect,” I said, desperately needing to change the subject.

“Oh come on, don’t change the subject like that on me.”

I sighed. “People who want love and relationships are thrill seekers. And I’m sure you know by now I’m not.”

“I beg to differ.” He eased closer to me, his cologne rising to my nostrils as his nearness made my pussy thump. “When you rode this dick, you were a thrill seeker. You don’t agree?”

My mouth parted and warmth stirred my soul. “Oh… you want to get fucked in the produce section, do you?”

His face was transformed into a gorgeous, naughty grin. “Next time. This time, I’m trying to offer you a lifelong thrill ride.”

He grabbed my hand and laid it cross his heart. “You feel me?”

I sucked in a breath. “Christian… I can’t,” I said.

“Why can’t you?”

My heart rate intensified. “Please. Take that answer for what it is.”

Disappointment reshuffled his features. “Right,” he nodded. “Of course.”

We lingered there for another moment, both of us seeming reluctant to move.

“I should let you finish your shopping,” Christian said.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, you, too. You should finish yours.”

He smiled at my stumbling words. “Have a good rest of your weekend, Naomi.”

“You too.”

I watched him walk away, admiring the way his jeans fit his body and the confident stride that carried him down the aisle.

When he disappeared around the corner, I realized I was still holding the avocado he’d touched, and I had to resist the urge to press it against my cheek like a lovesick teenager.

“Get it together, Naomi,” I muttered to myself, but I couldn’t shake the warmth that had settled over me.

I finished my shopping in a daze, moving through the aisles on autopilot while my mind replayed every moment of our conversation.

At the checkout, I glanced around, looking for him, but he was nowhere to be seen, probably for the best. I wasn’t sure I could handle another dose of his smile without doing something stupid like accepting his invitation, knowing I couldn’t see it through.

Back in my condo, I put away groceries and tried to focus on normal Saturday afternoon activities.

I did laundry, cleaned the already spotless kitchen, and attempted to read a book that failed to hold my attention.

But every few minutes, my mind drifted back to the grocery store, to the warmth in Christian’s eyes and the desire in his voice.

By evening, I was restless. I poured myself a glass of wine and settled on the couch, scrolling through my phone for something to distract me. Every app I opened felt pointless, and every article I started was boring.

I opened a text and typed Christian’s number, but my fingers hovered above the keys.

Everything I wanted to say seemed outside of our boundaries. I couldn’t find the words that would sound casual when nothing about my feelings were casual anymore.

I set the phone aside and finished my wine, trying to convince myself that not texting him was the wise and safe choice. The choice that protected both of us from complications neither of us was supposed to want.

But as I got ready for bed later that night, slipping into the black lace bra and matching panties I’d bought on a whim last week, I caught sight of myself in the bedroom mirror. The lingerie looked good against my dark skin, feminine and sexy, making me feel powerful.

Quickly, I grabbed my phone and positioned it perfectly, angling the camera to capture my torso from my nipples peeking through the lace to the apex of my thighs where my lace panties could be seen.

I took several shots, deleting the pictures that didn’t look right, until I had one that made me look ethereal, confident, sensual, unapologetic.

I attached it to a text message with just three words: “Until next time.”

And hit send before I could change my mind.

The phone rang thirty seconds later. Christian’s name flashed across the screen, and a giggle bubble up from deep in my throat. I became so giddy whenever it came to him nowadays.

I let it ring, watching his name appear and disappear as the call went to voicemail. Part of me wanted to answer, to hear his voice roughen the way it did when he was aroused. But a bigger part of me was enjoying this power of knowing I’d affected him. It was the thrill of being wanted.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text: “Teasing me? I’ll make you pay for that.”

I read the message three times, each time feeling heat flourish across my skin. The promise in those words, and the way he could make “pay” sound like the most delicious threat imaginable made my pussy thump.

I typed back: “Looking forward to it.”

Then I turned off my phone and slipped between my sheets, with anticipation spinning through my thoughts until I fell asleep.