Page 8 of Carpenter's Christmas Bride

But, to her horror, the tear fountain erupted again, and she found herself crying like her heart was broken.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Aidan grumbled. “Don’t cry. I’ll help you with your stuff.”

Somehow, him breaking and being a little nicer only made her angrier with herself, which in turn made her cry harder.

“B-b-but your truck,” she whimpered.

“This truck is probably older than you are,” he muttered. “Look at it.”

She wiped her eyes again and glanced over.

Now that she was really looking, she could see that the truck was definitely an older model, with plenty of nicks and scratches. There was mud around the wheel wells, too. It looked like the kind of vehicle that was used for hard work, not for show.

“See?” Aidan said impatiently. “No harm done. Now, come on.”

He had already grabbed her cart and was pushing it up the slight incline of the lot without even looking at the new scrape in the paint it had left behind.

Well, if he could ignore it, then she could too. Kenzie moved as quickly as she dared to catch up and was amazed when she saw him grab a bag from her cart to put it in the car.

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him a little breathlessly as she joined him.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly.

He feels bad for yelling at me, she realized in disbelief.

He reached for another bag and when she realized which bag it was, she died a little death of embarrassment. The entire thing was full of sweet cereals, fruit roll-ups, and chocolate pudding cups. And Aidan Webb was looking into it with a frown.

“My son likes pudding cups too,” he said, surprising her. “How old is your kid?”

“Five,” she lied, surprising herself. Kenzie was normally a very honest person. This mean-spirited grump must have really gotten into her head.

“Oh yeah?” he said, turning to her like he was about to ask whose class her kid was in or something.

“No,” she admitted miserably. “I don’t actually have a kid. All that stuff is for me.”

He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowed.

Kenzie braced herself for him to go ballistic on her.

Instead, the right side of his mouth quirked up in an expression that looked almost like the beginning of a smile.

“You going to be okay getting home?” he growled, tearing his eyes from hers as he put the final bag into the car.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I live nearby.”

He paused for a moment, looking down at her. There was something inscrutable in his expression and she lost herself for a moment, trying to read what was written in his steel-blue gaze.

In spite of everything, she felt a little pull of attraction and a voice in the back of her head wondered if he felt it too, and suddenly wished she knew what he was thinking.

But he turned away and headed back to the sidewalk before she could figure it out, snapping her right back to reality.

It was probably just some condescending advice about grocery cart etiquette, she told herself, as she slid her crutches into the car one by one. It’s lucky I couldn’t hear what he was thinking, or I’d probably just start crying again.

She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment that she’d let the big, handsome bully make her cry. Twice.

As soon as she got her bag into the car, she lowered herself into the driver’s seat and let out a sigh of relief.

All she had to do now was drive home and unload the car. Then she could collapse on the couch and watch a Christmas movie, just like she had done last night, and probably would every night until her cast was off.

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