Page 34 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

“Sorry.” He mumbles, but I don’t catch a look at his face.

I glance around to locate Grace, and she’s white as a sheet. I look over my shoulder, but the guy is gone. “Did you know that guy?”

She shakes her head and flips through garments on a hanging display, but her motions are jerky, and her hand is shaking.

“Grace, you okay?”

“I think I have enough.” She seems to want to get out of here in a hurry and stalks toward the nearest register.

I stop her at a display of fancy sweaters. “You don’t have enough stuff. Get something nice for Christmas.”

She hurriedly grabs something, throws it over her arm, and goes to the counter.

I frown and spot a mannequin with a sexy, off-the-shoulder red sweater. The sales woman returns with the correct size of an extra pair of jeans, and I point at the mannequin. “Get that in her size.”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Lucky, I don’t need that. Where would I wear it?”

She seems nervous, so I don’t drop the bomb that she’s coming to our clubhouse party. “Just humor me.”

“Fine, if we can just be done.”

“You’re the first woman I know who doesn’t enjoy shopping.”

Soon, I’m carrying her bag to the truck and opening the door for her. The moment we’re inside, she hits the lock and glances around.

“Can I borrow these?” she asks, grabbing my sunglasses off my visor.

“Sure. Maybe we should buy you a pair—” I say, but she’s already slipping them on. “Something you want to tell me, Grace?”

“Nope. Why?”

I just stare at her.

“Can we just go, please?”

I shift into gear, scanning the lot. I spot a guy in the same royal blue sweat jacket as the guy who bumped into me. He’s leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. I dip my head and memorize his face.

He locks eyes with me.

Grace has her body shifted, almost like she doesn’t want him to see her.

I wonder if he’s some guy she dated. She said she’d been in town for a while. I’m sure she had plenty of opportunity to meet men.

Somehow, that thought pisses me off.

I squeeze her hand. “You okay?”

She practically jumps out of her skin when I touch her. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Grace?”

She tugs her hand free. “I’m fine.”

I drive to the girls’ school and park in the pickup line. There’s an uncomfortable silence between us, and I let it be for now.

When the girls climb in the backseat, they chatter happily, telling us both about their day, and Grace pastes on a smile. I don’t know if she’s just a good actress or if she’s actually relaxing.

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