Page 35 of Rambler's Snow Bunny
It’s very festive for the holidays. And sexy as hell.
“For Christmas?” I ask, eyeing it.
“For me,” he counters, dropping it into the cart. “Early Christmas present.”
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. It’s amazing how quickly this gruff, intimidating man has become the center of my world.
We continue through the store, adding pajamas, even though the crazy man insists I won’t be wearing them much. I also grab some socks and a warm winter coat with a fur-lined hood.
The coat alone costs more than I’d spend on clothes in a month back in Florida, but Aaron doesn’t even blink at the price.
“Shoes next,” he says, steering me toward that department.
I select a pair of knee-high boots and a pair of athletic shoes, trying to be practical. Aaron adds a pair of fuzzy slippers that are ridiculously soft.
“For around the house,” he says when I raise an eyebrow at him.
With our cart full to the brim with clothes, Aaron grabs another cart that someone abandoned in a nearby aisle.
“Now let’s get some groceries and get the fuck outta here before the snow starts coming down.”
I nod, following him toward the food section. The store is getting busier, with more people rushing in to stock up before the storm hits.
“What kind of food do you like?” Aaron asks as we navigate the produce section.
I shrug. “I’m not picky. I like most things.”
“You cook?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty good at it,” I admit. “I used to cook for the guys at the clubhouse sometimes.”
His eyes light up. “Good. I’ve been eating too much takeout lately.”
We fill the second cart with groceries—fresh vegetables, fruits, meats, pasta, rice, and all the staples. Aaron grabs several boxes of protein bars, explaining that he eats them when he’s on the road.
“Oh! Hot chocolate,” I exclaim, spotting the display. “Can we get some? Please?”
Aaron’s face softens. “Of course, butterfly.”
I grab a box of the fancy kind with mini marshmallows included, feeling oddly excited about the prospect of drinking hot chocolate during a snowstorm.
As we head toward the checkout, Aaron spots a display of winter accessories. “Wait,” he says, veering off in their direction. “You need a hat and gloves too.”
I select a simple black beanie and matching gloves, but Aaron reaches past me for a pink set with a fuzzy pom-pom on top of the hat.
“This one,” he says. “Matches your hair.”
My heart melts a little. Who knew this big, scary biker could be so damn sweet?
We reach the checkout, and I wince as the cashier starts scanning our items. The total keeps climbing higher and higher. Aaron doesn’t seem concerned, pulling out a thick wad of cash when it’s time to pay.
“Aaron,” I whisper, tugging on his sleeve. “It’s too much.”
He gives me a look that silences any further protest. “It’s fine.”
Once everything is paid for and loaded into bags, we push our carts out to the truck. The sky has darkened considerably since we went into the store, and the air feels funny.
“We’d better hurry,” Aaron says, lifting bags into the truck bed. “Storm’s coming in fast.”
