Page 21 of That Kiss

“Oh,” she huffs, “damn, I was hoping for a hot hookup story today.

“How’d your date with Noah go?”

She blushes, nodding her head. “It was really good.”

“Will there be a second one?”

“I hope so,” she says, stuffing the rest of her donut into her mouth just as he walks through the door. Her eyes grow wide and her hand darts out to cover her mouth.

“Hey, Noah,” I say, distracting him so she has enough time to swallow and clean the frosting from her lips. “Did you finish up the Sanderson tractor in bay four?”

“Yup, was just coming to give you the finished ticket.” He hands me the clear plastic sleeve and glances over his shoulder toward Izzy, who has managed to not only clean herself up, but also slick on a fresh coat of pink gloss and spritz some perfume all while he was distracted.

“I’ll take that.” She hops up, reaching for it. “I’m scanning all of the documents into the new system today.”

They instantly fall into an easy conversation, both of their faces revealing exactly how they feel about each other. A surge of jealousy courses through me. If Deck walked through the door right now, I guarantee he would do his best to act like he barely even noticed I was standing here.

I turn my attention back to my desk, focusing on work for the next several hours so I’ll have my Saturday evening free to just relax and enjoy some downtime.

Of course I stay a few hours later than intended, but I’m setting myself up for a successful week. By the time I make it home, I’m ready for a shower and my PJs. I take my time, enjoying the scalding water before slipping into my favorite fuzzy socks, an oversized leftover T-shirt from one of the annual Fall Fests, and a pair of old boxers from an ex. I scrounge through the fridge, groaning when I realize my only options are either a grilled cheese or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Shit.” I check the milk that’s just past its expiration. “Should have stopped by the store.”

A second later, a knock at the back door startles me so badly, I drop the milk and it explodes on the kitchen floor.

“Shit!” This time I shout, slamming the refrigerator door.

“Juney, you okay in there?” Decker’s voice sounds through the door. The handle turns, but the deadbolt I put in place keeps it from opening.

“Deck?” I run to the door, swinging it open to see him standing with a sack of groceries. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes do that thing again, only this time it’s not lust I see in his eyes. “Cute outfit.” He smiles but it quickly falters when he looks around me to the lake of milk on my kitchen floor. “Jesus, what happened?” he asks, stepping past me and placing the bag on the counter.

“You happened,” I mutter, closing the door behind him. “You scared the shit out of me when you pounded on the door like that, and I dropped it.”

He’s already on his hands and knees with a wad of paper towels to clean it up.

“I’ve got it, really,” I say, trying to push him out of the way, but he doesn’t move. He just continues cleaning it up.

“Why’d you stop by?”

“Thought you could use some food.” He nods toward the grocery bag. “I know you’ve been working yourself ragged since you took over for your dad, and I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself too.”

“Oh!” I move toward the bag to peer inside. There’s chicken, steak, fresh fruit, veggies, cheese, and milk, along with a pack of my favorite animal crackers. “You seriously remembered these?” I laugh, holding up the packet so he can see it.

“Are you kidding me? That’s the only thing you’d eat when my mom babysat you growing up.”

I tear the bag open and pop one in my mouth. “Oh my God, just as good as I remember! Here.” I hold the bag out toward him once he stands back up and washes his hands. He slowly wipes them on his jeans before reaching into the bag and grabbing one.

“Good,” he says after chewing it. We stand there awkwardly facing one another, both of us swallowing down our crackers in silence.

“You don’t have to take care of me or anything like that, if that’s what this is.” I know I’ll probably regret this later when I’ve convinced myself he actually came over here for round two, but I know him better than that. This is next day-regret, and these are apology groceries.

“Damn good, actually,” he says, reaching his hand out for the bag and clearly ignoring my comment. I extend it toward him and he snatches it from me, grabbing a handful of crackers. “You should open the milk,” he nods toward the fridge then pauses, “or maybe I should after what you did to the other gallon.”

“I can manage.” I take my time finding a glass in the cabinet, watching as Deck kicks the kitchen chair leg so he can sit down in it. “So is this dinner then?” I place the glass of milk in front of him and take a seat across the table.

“I hope it’s not your dinner; I’ll eat when I’m home. How are things going at the shop?”

---