Page 58 of Billion Dollar Vow

He tilts his head with a deep scowl. “What food do you need?”

I shrug. “Normal things, like pasta, cereal, milk, fish, rice, and snacks.”

His eyes flick to the closed cupboard, then back to me. “I have that.”

“It’s okay. I want to grab a few other things anyway.” I brush past him to my purse. He doesn’t move, so my body skims his.

“I’ll come with you.”

I wave him off as I sling the bag on my shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll be back shortly.”

I don’t need to spend more alone time with him. The sexy dream I had of him last night is enough to tell me I need some space. He’s clearly getting in my head.

“No, I've got nothing else to do.”

Really?I suck in a breath as he grabs his keys and gives me no choice, heading to his Aston Martin.

“How was your day?” he asks, breaking the silence as he opens the door, holding it open for me to climb in.

“Good,” I answer automatically, like I usually do when my brother asks me, knowing he doesn’t really want to know; he just feels the need to ask, to make sure nothing bad happened.

He closes the door as I buckle in, and he climbs into the driver’s seat. “What was good about it?”

I look over at him, his eyes on the road as we drive out of his lot.

But he glances over at me with a soft expression, and it makes my stomach flutter weirdly.

“It was fun. We had to draw the start of something, then the teacher sent us out to grab a drink. When we returned, she mixed up the canvases and told us to finish the drawing.”

The challenge of picking up where someone else left off, of finding the balance between their vision and mine, was exactly what I needed.

“That actually does sound fun. What did you draw?”

I smile as I stare out the car window, watching the people pass on the sidewalk, wondering why we didn’t walk, but also grateful I can get home and eat faster as my stomach churns in on itself. “A side-view picture of a woman.”

“Did you find out who had whose?” He parks the car in the busy parking lot.

“Yeah, we did.” Stepping out, the cool air whips around my arms, and I regret not bringing a sweater; the cami isn’t enough. I briskly walk to the entrance as he follows.

I move to the shopping cart, and he veers toward the basket.

I laugh. “We need a cart.”

His eyebrow lifts higher as he strides to me, taking the cart, our hands briefly touching and sending that spark through me again. “I thought you said we only need a few things.”

“We do, but I just like pushing a cart around,” I say as I direct him to the first aisle.

We walk side by side, my eyes scanning for things I like.

I’m a fussy eater, so I need comfort foods or meals that feel familiar.

I throw in sugary cereal, but he picks up the package, turning it to the side to read the label.

“Do you even know how to pronounce the ingredients?” He tosses it in the cart.

“Hey, be careful,” I scold, shaking my head.

He stares at the box like it’s poison. “The ingredient list is a mile long and the main ones are sugar and food dye.”

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