Cindy Miles - At First Touch

He obliged, handing her one of the little plastic bags on a roller close to the bin. Reagan felt around the oranges, squeezing lightly until she had chosen her three. Silently, she stood. Waiting. He could tell she was warring with herself.

“Okay, what next?” he asked, throwing in a bag of seedless red grapes. He plucked a few out and started popping them into his mouth. “Want a grape?”

“No, I don’t want a grape. They’re not washed. The pasta and spaghetti sauce aisle, please. And I need ground Italian sausage.”

“Good choice, one of my faves,” he answered. Pretending not to notice her grumpiness. Eric guided them down aisle after aisle, and they’d stopped at the tomato sauce to ponder the selections when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. When he looked, it was Jep.

He answered it. “Franco’s Pizza. Pick up or delivery?”

“Pizza my ass, you crazy boy.”

Eric glanced at Reagan, since Jep’s loud voice could be heard quite plainly without the speaker being on. A very subtle grin lifted the corners of those plump lips, and it made him smile, too. “What’d you forget, Jep my good man?”

“Buttermilk. I need some buttermilk. You talk that Quinn girl into going with you?”

Eric laughed. “Of course,” he replied, watching Reagan’s face. “She can’t keep her hands off me, Jep. It’s the craziest thing—umph!”

Just that fast, Reagan planted her pointy little elbow into his ribs.

Jep laughed. “Right. Sounds like it. And get me a candy bar, son. A big one.”

“Copy that, Gramps,” Eric wheezed, and stuffed the phone in his back pocket. He rubbed his side. “You punch pretty hard for a runt.”

“You deserved it,” she countered, and started pushing the grocery cart. “A large jar of plain sauce and angel-hair pasta, if you don’t mind.”

“Good choice,” he answered, and grabbed the items from the shelf. He could tell Reagan was just not going to cave. They passed a woman holding a silver tray filled with meat and cheese on toothpicks, and Eric plucked two up and grinned at the woman. He popped one chunk of cheese in his mouth.

“Reagan, here, you gotta try this cheese.”

“No, thanks.”

Eric popped the other one and nodded at the woman. “You don’t know what you’re missing. I could eat the whole tray.” Still she said nothing. “Anything else?”

“French bread,” she answered. “Wine.”

“Gotcha.” They made their way first to the wine and beer aisle, where he studied the entire row of choices.

“Red or white or...pink?” he asked.

“Red.”

Ah, at least she did care about that one. Scanning the red choices, he picked one, staring at the label and wondering how in the hell he was supposed to know if it was right or not, shrugged, nestled it into the cart, then headed to the bread aisle, and he handed her a store-made loaf. “How’s this one?” He glanced down at her, watching her response.

She squeezed it, looking completely uninterested. “Fine.”

Eric laughed. “Reagan, you didn’t even smell it.”

A second—maybe two—passed before she lifted it to her nose and inhaled. She nodded. “Like I said—fine.”

Eric dropped his head and sighed. “Anything else? If you say one single girlie product—” he glanced up and around “—or anything from aisle eleven, actually, I’ll strangle you.”

A tiny smile coaxed her lips upward. She even tried to hide it by turning her head. So slight a movement he nearly missed it.

But he didn’t. And it made him grin.

She shook her head. “Nope. After the meat aisle I’m finished.”

“Are you sure? I mean...” He bumped her shoulder with his and they made their way to the meat department. “We could make three more passes by the deli and nearly get an entire meal from that lady holding the platter of cheese jammed on toothpicks.”

Again, she shook her head and tried to hide a smile. “You’re so weird,” she said. “No, thanks.”

“All right, then,” he answered, proud that he’d coaxed an almost-laugh from her. “But don’t be all sorry about it later, when you’re wishing you had cheese on a stick.”

“I’ll consider it,” she answered. She sighed. “Thanks for helping me out, Malone.”

His gaze raked over her, and he tugged her ponytail. “Anytime. And I mean that.” He glanced down at the sausage. “Sweet or hot?”

She gave a nod. “Sweet.” Eric grabbed a large pack and together they made their way to the milk aisle, where Eric grabbed a gallon of whole milk and Jep’s buttermilk, then headed to the front of the store. He guided Reagan to a relatively empty checkout line. After loading all of the items, including a monster candy bar for Jep, Eric slid his card through to pay.

“Eric,” Reagan said, and when he looked, she held a fifty-dollar bill. “Please.”

“Well, I would,” he countered, lowering her hand with his. “But I aim to eat some of this fine Italiano fare you’re preparing, so it’s only right that I pay for it.”

The frown on her face proved she was not very happy.

“Besides, I already slid my card.” He looked at the cashier, Sarah, and inclined his head. “Tell her, Sarah. I already slid the card. What’s done is done.”

Sarah was a middle-aged woman with black hair tucked behind her ears and several shots of silver showing at her temples. Her eyebrows rose and she shrugged, but a smile tipped her lipstick-pink lips. She’d worked at the market for years now. “It’s true, honey. The card hath sliddeth, the deal done.”

Eric winked at Sarah and grinned.

Reagan shook her head. “You didn’t have to.” Then she lifted her chin. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “But if you pull something like that again, I’ll hurt you.”

Eric cast a quick glance at Sarah and shrugged.

“Gotcha. You’ll hurt me,” he offered. “Let’s get outta here, eh?”

The moment the automatic doors opened, heat poured in, replacing the frigid temp of the grocery store. The parking lot was filling up, and they made their way to Jep’s truck. “Sorry, no air,” he apologized. Jep’s truck was like a damned oven. “Weird, but I kinda like it like that.”

“I’m used to it,” Reagan claimed, and, holding on to the lip of the truck bed, made her way to the passenger’s side.

Eric quickly loaded the grocery bags, parked the cart in the drop spot and hurried back to the truck. He leaped in. “Anywhere else?” he asked, turning over the engine.

“We have meat and dairy in the back, Eric,” Reagan reminded.

Eric glanced at his occupant. “So. We’ll drop the stuff off and go grab a bite to eat? Maybe?” He pulled out of the parking lot.

“Thanks, but no,” she said. “I need to get back home.”

“But Reagan, we can—”

She turned to him then, blue eyes crazy mad and glassy. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Eric turned another quick glance at Reagan. “Other than you’re gorgeous? Hmm. Gimme a sec. Let me think...”

She turned to the open window, facing away from him.

For once, he didn’t push. He left her to her thoughts as they crossed the two-lane bridge that carried them over the marsh and back to the island. Every few moments, he’d glance her way. Her body was rigid again, uncomfortable, like she was ready to bolt. Did he make her that uneasy? And wasn’t he doing it on purpose to lighten her up? Eric made it all the way to her drive, then, surprisingly, to her house, without uttering another word. The moment the truck stopped, she opened the door.

“Reagan,” he started, and climbed out and met her at the tailgate.

She slipped her glasses back on. “Look, Eric. I appreciate your eagerness to help me. But...I just can’t.”