Page 23 of Hot for the Jerk

“She’s my cousin.I’m guessing she’s the one you usually deal with?”

“She is, yeah.Her, or Gabrielle.It’s nice to meet another one of the Vino Vixens though.Still need to meet the fourth … Danielle?”

“Danica,” I corrected.“Yeah, you probably won’t.”I snickered.“She’s super shy.She runs the finance side of things.Locks herself away in the office most days, crunching numbers and telling us when we need to offer fewer cheese cubes with our charcuterie boards unless we want to declare bankruptcy.”

Malachai’s laugh was deep and booming.“We’ve got one of those in the family too.”

“Just here to buy a few things to tide us over.Socks, some snacks, you know,” Jagger said, glancing down at me.“It was great to see you though, man.Give Lacy and the kids my best.”He shook Malachai’s hand again, then slapped him on the shoulder before leading me toward the back of the store.“It’s smaller than the Town Center Grocery Store on San Camanez, but mostly the same vibe.A little bit of everything.”He scratched at his beard as we rounded the corner into a small alcove filled with clothes racks.“Ah, here we go.”

We stopped in front of a cardboard stand full of six-packs of socks.Jagger grabbed one, grunted, then returned it, having to dig a little toward the back of the stack.Obviously, the socks for giants weren’t front and center.I bent down and found a pack of women’s size six-to-ten in grays, white, and blacks, and tucked it under my arm, then wandered deeper into the small alcove of clothes.I’d need underwear too.Ugh.A women’s Hanes six-pack in my size—also in white, gray, and black—was in another cardboard stand.I shoved that under my arm with the socks.A pair of leggings and a long-sleeve Henly also made their way into my “to-buy” armload.

“Here,” Jagger said, coming up behind me, “unload.”He held out the blue shopping basket, his eyes kind and innocent behind his glasses.His socks, a pack of boxers, and a T-shirt were already in there.

With a huff, I acquiesced and unloaded my items.He was happy enough to continue carrying the basket as we meandered away from the clothing section and down the aisles.“Chicken Caesar salads for dinner?”I asked, stopping at the cooler with pre-made salads, wraps, and sandwiches in it.

“I’ll need more than that,” he said, throwing in two salads, then a container of macaroni salad and a roll of peppercorn salami.By the time we made it to the checkout, he’d loaded up the basket with pre-sliced cheese, a cucumber, a bunch of bananas, some dried cranberries, six small yogurts, crackers, a bag of baby carrots, and some ranch dip—in addition to all the other stuff.

“How many nights are you planning to stay here?”I asked him as we unloaded the basket and put the plastic separator on the belt between my stuff and his.Though, he did put my salad on his side, which I found curious.

“Just one more—hopefully.I’ve got a big appetite.Are you shaming me, Elsa?”

My brows furrowed and the woman scanning his stuff watched us with intrigue through her lashes.“No.This is just a lot of food for what will hopefully be no longer than twenty-four hours.”

“A lot of food foroneperson, maybe.But not for two.Unless you’re one of those women that eats like a bird?”

“Now who’s shaming?”I quipped.But that only made him smile.The cashier gave him his total, and he handed over his credit card.

“You didn’t have to buy my salad,” I said sheepishly when it was my turn to pay.

“I didn’t see you objecting.”Again, he was still smiling, and that only made me smile—and roll my eyes.

Once I paid, we headed out of the automatic doors, but paused before stepping out into the rain.It was like Mother Nature turned the faucet on high and was currently trying to rid humans of their first layer of skin.I’d never seen rain this hard before.

“Keys,” Jagger said, holding out his hand and dropping the reusable fabric shopping bag I had loaned him from my car, full of his stuff at my feet.

On autopilot, I handed him the keys, then watched him jog into the parking lot, doing his best to dodge the raindrops.

A moment later, my car pulled up right in front of the store with Jagger behind the wheel.

He climbed out and didn’t let me grab the bags before he already had them in his hands and was opening the hatch in the back.I raced to the passenger side and opened the door, raindrops dripping off my nose even from that small little dash from in front of the grocery store doors.

“Anywhere else you’d like to go?”he asked, cranking the defrost to the highest setting.

I shook my head.“Is there anywhere elsetogo?”

“Wayman Island has lots of fun little beaches and hikes and stuff, but none that we’d enjoy visiting right now.”

“Then back to Lenora’s, I suppose.”

All he did was nod and take us out of the parking lot.Jagger was a good driver.He was cautious, but didn’t drive like an old person—under the speed limit.He took care not to speed or do anything too risky, probably habit from having all his nieces and nephews in the vehicle with him.

We were back at the B&B in no time, and once again, he dropped me off right at the front steps so I didn’t have to get too wet in the parking lot.He even helped unload the groceries before parking the car next to his cube truck.

I was more confused than ever about Jagger McEvoy as we climbed the stairs up to our room, our jackets dripping on the carpet.I used my key, since he had both grocery bags, and let us into the space.I still couldn’t understand how Lenora thought this should be labeled as the honeymoon suite.Harry Potter had more spacious accommodations under the Dursley’s stairs.Then again, I wasn’t sure what the other rooms were like, so maybe this one was palatial in comparison.

Either way, with Jagger in the room, it felt positively microscopic.He had such an enormous presence, not to mention breadth, to him.

After he ditched his Blundstones and jacket, he took the shopping bag over to the fridge and unloaded.I took a moment to reluctantly appreciate the muscular expanse of his back before he stood up and made his way over to the bed where I was busy opening my package of socks.

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