I look back over at Dagny, and she’s getting a drink of water. She isn’t listening. But I am. And that’s my plan.
I turn off the light and head upstairs, but my mind goes back to Ryker. Ugh! I take off my clothes and throw them into the hamper, annoyed at myself. I yank my leopard-print silk robe off a corner of my four-poster canopy bed, and I stomp to the bathroom to draw a much-deserved bath.
OK, he is attractive though. His green eyes had so much intensity. Even now, my knees turn into jelly thinking about them. But hell, it’s no wonder… I haven’t been with a man in over two years. My vagina has cobwebs.
But just one thing. I’ll deny it until my dying day, but if I’m honest with myself, he was right.
There was something there. Something unnerving and exciting.
My lower back tightens.
I slide into the hot bathtub, trying to relax. While shaving my legs, I laugh again. Marriage. He’s insane.
I wake up after a shitty night of restless sleep. I’m unsettled from those text messages with Ryker, and my dream. My head hurts. I rub my temples as I try to replay snippets of my dream in my mind, before they disappear forever. I saw a vision of me in a leopard robe, terrycloth this time, sitting in a faded pink rocking chair, and I’m alone. Mom and Popster were gone, and I had no one. No husband, no friends, no kids. Only strangers coming and going from The Rose Bed-and-Breakfast, for which I sacrificed so much to open.
I shake the fragments of the dream away and crawl out of bed. My priorities today are simple. Drink coffee. Get groceries. Buy dress.
I go downstairs and load an organic French-roast K-cup into the brewer. I love the efficiency of this machine. And the coffee isn’t bad either. The organic pods I buy cost a little more, but they don’t contain any plastic. They don’t stay fresh as long, but as fast as I go through them, that’s a non-issue.
I get the whipping cream from the fridge and the block of silver-foil-wrapped cream cheese. While the coffee brews, I shove two big spoonfuls of the cream cheese into my mouth and let my eyes roll into the back of my head as the decadent taste wraps around my tongue. After my brief glimpse of ecstasy, I open my eyes and pour the cold whipping cream into my coffee and drink.
Breakfast. Done.
I pass through the automatic doors of Cameron’s Market, and the rush of air conditioning blows past me, cooling me down and blowing my hair into my lipstick. I gently pull it out, careful not to let it drag bright red lipstick across my cheek.
I grab a grocery cart and start my weekly shopping. When possible, I save my shopping for Sundays, which is usually when I have some extra time, and they restock the produce for the week, so it’s really fresh. I buy enough for the week, picking out things that take little time to prep. I don’t have time to make elaborate meals for one, and a person can only eat so much quiche and pie.
In no time, I fill my cart with toilet paper, boxes of pasta and rice, cans of beans… things that are easy to throw together. But I won’t sink to the level of frozen dinners. I have standards. I’d rather dump a can of chickpeas into a bowl and toss them into the microwave with a spoonful of ghee. It makes me feel like I still had a hand in the operation.
I stroll through the dairy section at the back of the store, looking to the right as I pass aisles to decide if I need anything from them. I stop abruptly just as I pass aisle 10, Housewares. My breath hitches in my chest, and our eyes meet. It’s fucking Ryker! I can see his luminous green eyes from this end of the aisle, as he stands there looking at me, exuding an air of confidence, an air of knowing. His lips curve into a delicious smile, and that shitty warmth pools in my belly—unbidden and unwelcome, dammit. I think he’s holding a package of batteries. Like a ravenous cat, he narrows his eyes at me like he’s spotted a succulent mouse.
Without taking his eyes off me, he tosses the batteries into the green, plastic basket he’s carrying and saunters down the aisle toward me.
But I don’t wait.
I put some muscle into pushing my cart and scoot ahead quickly. I do not want to talk to that hot lunatic. I swerve my cart like a stunt driver, taking the corner to the next aisle, hoping he’ll get the hint. But the only thing he did was walk faster and catch up, like this is some kind of chase.
I put more heft into my movement, but my heavy cart has a mind of its own as I swerve too sharply and hit the corner. I bump into a towering endcap display of Kleenex, almost knocking it over, and I stand there, eyes huge, praying the swaying stack of boxes doesn’t collapse. Thankfully, they stay put. I’m still facing the display, when he walks up and stands next to me, almost shoulder to shoulder. Almost.
I won’t even look at him. I pretend he’s not there. So, he moves to stand in front of me, so I can’t ignore him. But I do. I pick up a box of Kleenex to… study the ingredients?… and I turn away, with my back to him. It turns out tissues don’t have ingredients. I bite the inside of my cheek and put it back. He laughs. A sexy, rugged laugh that makes a flush of fresh heat roll through me. I’m too young for hot-flashes, which means my reaction is because of him. My lip
