Page 4 of Never Kiss Your Neighbors

He is also, I have to admit, an extremely talented juggler. The longer he keeps the jars in the air, the less I’m envisioning the floor covered in shards of glass and globs of bright red jelly.

When an older woman appears in the aisle, the guy stops juggling, though I don’t get the sense that he’s embarrassed or fears getting into trouble. More like he doesn’t want a bigger audience. He manages to catch all of the jars, using his arms and chin to help keep them from smashing into each other.

I feel like I should clap, but I’m still too bewildered by the whole situation.

“This one looks good,” he says, holding out a square-sided jar with a gold label. When I take it from him, our fingers touch, and heat races up my arm like a lit fuse.

Flustered, I take a step back, and the next thing I know, the man’s arms are around me, pulling me out of the path of a fast-moving cart. The haste of the man pushing the cart reminds me that I, too, was in a hurry when I came in here, but suddenly, I’m in no rush to leave the juggler’s embrace.

His body feels firm but comforting, and just as warm as I imagined.

“Slow down, buddy,” my rescuer calls after the speed demon before releasing me. “You okay?”

“I’m good. Thank you.” I actually feel like I’m glowing, and I hope my reaction to his touch isn’t written all over my face.

It has definitely been far too long since I’ve interacted in any meaningful way with a member of the opposite sex. Not that any of this is meaningful—just bizarre, really.

The smile he turns on me almost compensates for the loss of his touch. “Maybe they need to post speed limit signs in here,” he says as he sets down all of the jelly jars except his chipotle one.

“I’m sure everyone would ignore them, just like they do out on the road.”

“Good point. Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.” He gives my arm a quick, light touch with the tips of his fingers, lighting another fuse. “I’d have hated to lose you right after meeting you.”

Lose me?Again, I’m at a loss for what to say as the realization sinks in that he’s flirting with me.This gorgeous man is flirting with me.

“Maybe I could get your number?” he asks. “You know, in case you need help choosing groceries in the future.”

Somehow this request is more shocking than the random history facts and the juggling. Jessie’s usually with me when I’m out in public. I can’t remember the last time a guy even looked at me, much less asked for my number.

I’m pretty sure I do some stuttering after this, but honestly, it’s all a blur. I manage to say something about how I’m “not dating right now,” and the handsome stranger responds with a nod and a continued smile, even if it does lose some of its wattage.

“Good luck with the jelly,” he says amiably, before giving me a wave and continuing on his way.

I continue to ponder the strawberry jelly options, or at least pretend to while I take a moment to get my bearings. There’s an argument going on between my body—which wants me to run after the hottie and tattoo all my contact info in bold, black letters on the back of his big, strong hand—and my head, which is firmly in the no-dating stance, especially when it comes to a man who’s so …unserious.

Feeling overwhelmed by options, I end up buying the same brand of strawberry jelly that my mom always bought, the one Jessie loves. I’ll revisit the low-sugar types on my next visit, when I’m not so distracted.

Amazingly, I remember that milk was my priority when I came in, and I head to the back of the store to pick up a gallon.

The sight of a dark head gives me pause when I approach the checkout area, and I consider stalling until he leaves the store, but then I remind myself that I’m not a child. There’s no reason to hide. He accepted my refusal without an issue.

I intend to choose a different lane than the one he’s in, though. No point making awkward conversation. But, of course, only one lane’s open at this early hour, and the self-checkout area is roped off, for some reason.

It’s not until I get in line behind the jam juggler that I realize he’s not alone.

CHAPTER4

STELLA

The second man has lighter, sandy brown hair that flops over one of his eyes, which are a beautiful blue-gray color. He looks quite different from the juggler, but somehow he’s equally as good looking, with muscular arms displayed nicely by the heather blue t-shirt he’s wearing.

Maybe it’s a sign that I should start dating if I’m lusting after random men in the grocery store.

The juggler gives me another easy smile, letting me know there are no hard feelings. “Did you decide on a strawberry jelly?”

His question prompts the new guy to look down into my basket. “Wow, you must love chicken nuggets.”

I let that comment go, and give the juggler a quick nod to answer his question.

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