Page 23 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
After lunch, Aspen and I venture into a couple of the stores in town. I stock up on T-shirts, jeans, shorts, and underwear at a shop called Sun and Ski. Then we head into a place that sells gourmet food items like homemade caramels and little jars of honey.
Aspen looks around, inspecting each item carefully, while I buy us a tin of candied pecans. She settles on a box of ginger tea and a little moose ornament, which will be for her Christmas tree, she says. Something to remind her of her summer in Canada.
Next door, we head into an adorable shop where Aspen wants to buy everything. A pumpkin face peel promising smoother skin, an all-natural shampoo for shiny hair, and a balm called Sore Muscle Rescue that she makes a happy noise when she smells. But then she talks herself out of it, insisting she doesn’t need any of it.
While she chats with the store owner by the front windows, I sneakily purchase the items and stuff them into a bag.
“One more stop.” I point my chin toward the market across the street. “Let’s grab some more groceries while we’re here.”
Aspen nods. “Whatever my personal chef needs.”
At this, I chuckle. “Believe me, it’s nice cooking for someone other than myself.”
“But if you’re doing all the cooking, I should at least pay for the groceries.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’ve got it.” I’m all too aware of my salary compared to hers, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting her spend her money to feed us.
We pick out a bunch of organic produce and some meat that I can grill for dinner. I sneak in a prepackaged cake mix. I’m no baker, but everyone should have a cake on their birthday, right?
“Anything else?” I ask.
Aspen shakes her head, and I steer our cart toward the checkout lane.
The guy in front of us is focused so intently on the clerk ringing up his groceries, he barely notices his kid, who appears to be about Jaxon’s age, tugging on his jeans. The kid finally succeeds with a pleading whisper.
“Dad.” He holds up a candy bar he’s selected from the stand in the checkout lane. “Can I? Please?”
The man shakes his head. “Not today, bud. Put it back.”
The cashier finishes ringing up his order and announces the total.
To be honest, I’m not really paying attention. I’m more interested in covertly checking out Aspen and how good she looks wearing her cut-off jean shorts. But there seems to be an issue, and I look over at the man again, expecting his transaction to be complete.
His face is etched with worry as he counts and then re-counts the bills in his hand. Then he takes a breath and asks how much the bread is.
“It’s three thirty-nine, sir,” the clerk says quietly.
The man takes the bread off the conveyor belt, and I can see him doing some quick mental math. “And the oranges?”
My chest tightens as I watch the boy’s face fall.
“But, Dad . . .”
Acting quickly but stealthily, I take a twenty from my wallet and drop it to the floor. Then I tap the man on the shoulder. He turns to me with a weary expression.
“Excuse me. I think you dropped this?” I bend to the floor to collect the twenty and hold it out to him.
For a moment, there’s confusion, but then his expression changes. Gratitude followed by relief.
“Thank you,” he says, accepting the twenty-dollar bill and squeezing my hand as I place it in his palm.
I merely nod. “No worries.”
The man hands the money to the cashier while the boy watches me with a curious expression.
I consider paying for the candy for the kid too, but decide against it at the last moment because I don’t want to interfere with the man’s parenting. I merely want to help out in what seems like a desperate situation. Plus, I know from personal experience that my sister would castrate me if I gave Jaxon what she deemed as too much sugar.
Aspen is quiet while we check out. I pay for the groceries, and she helps me gather the bags. When we walk to the car, she bumps her hip into mine.
“That was really nice what you did back there.”
“Eh, it was nothing.”
She flashes me a skeptical look. “You don’t want anyone knowing beneath the tough hockey persona that you’re actually a nice guy?”
I grin at her. “Hell no. That would totally ruin my reputation for being a dick.”
She chuckles as we load the bags into the car. “Well, I’m on to you.”
The warm feeling inside my chest refuses to fade the entire drive back. We listen to music, singing along to an old country station, Aspen laughing at my awful singing voice. She’s smiling, though, so I sing even louder. She has a great laugh, and it’s easy to make her smile.
