Page 26 of The Naughty List

“Don’t worry about that old bird,” my grandma says dismissively. “Here, just take ‘em. My special recipe. It’s sure to win you Melissa’s heart.”

I furrow my brow and stare at her. “What did you put in these cookies, Grams?”

“Nothing like that, goodness. Now get going!”

I shake my head and thank her again before running out to my car, eager to see my angel.

Five minutes later, I'm pulling into the parking lot. I should probably play it cool, but I'm way past that. Throwing open my car door, I start running up to the front doors, but I manage to slow down to a brisk walk.

Inside, only a few patrons are sipping their warm beverages. Mrs. Marin must have gone home for the day, seeing as there’s some skinny high school kid behind the counter, tapping away on his phone.

Melissa isn’t here. I’m sure I’m just a few minutes early. It’s not like we had plans to meet up. Sitting down at a table in front of the big store window, I decide to wait a few minutes before ordering anything.

My foot taps impatient against the tiled floor, earning me a few wayward glances from the person at the table next to me. I can’t seem to care, however. Not when I see Melissa walking across the street in the opposite direction of the bakery.

I abruptly stand up, toppling my chair to the floor behind me. “Sorry,” I mutter as I pick it up and race out the door. I see her disappear into the grocery store, with Carson in tow.

I guess Grams had bad intel.I better not tell her that, though. Wouldn’t want to break her spirit.

I hop in my car and make the thirty second drive to the grocery store, even though it would be faster to run there. I can’t look that desperate. Not yet.

Once inside, I wander down the aisles with my cart, tossing random shit inside to at least maintain the illusion that I'm here to shop instead of basically stalking Melissa. I lost sight of her when she slipped inside the store. I'm almost certain it's been hours, but looking at my watch, I see only fifteen minutes have gone by.

Just then, I hear her voice.

"Apples or grapes?"

"Apples!" Carson answers, clapping his hands.

"Good choice."

I can hear the smile in her voice. She loves her son, that much is clear. As crazy as it seems, I think I love him almost as much. My chest grows tight again at the thought of them being my family. I want it with every cell in my body.

I round the corner into the produce section. My plan was to "bump into them," but now that I see her, I beeline right toward the stunning angel. Apparently, I'm about as subtle as my grandma when it comes to claiming what I want.

"Drake!" Carson squeals, wiggling in his seat in the cart.

"Hey, little man," I greet him, giving him a smile.

And then I look up, into those teal eyes that have haunted my dreams for a week now.

"Drake," she breathes out, dropping the bag of apples she was holding.

I bend down to gather them up, and Melissa does the same. Our eyes meet again, and she gives me the smallest, shyest little smile. It makes my heart swell up in my chest. It also makes other, lower parts of me swell.

Jesus, get it together, man. You're in public.

"I promise I'm not always a fumbling mess," she says once the apples have been collected and placed back in the bag. I set it aside and grab her a new bag, placing it in her cart. I can tell I frazzle her, and while I love knowing she's affected by me as well, I don't want her to feel embarrassed around me.

"You're not a mess," I assure her. She snorts out the cutest little laugh.

"You're being too kind, but thanks. I missed grocery shopping because I was home with Carson the day of the fire, and then I got backed up at work, and I really hate getting so off schedule, but I couldn’t find another time to do it, and so now we don’t have anything in the cupboards, and I’m skipping my hot chocolate sugar fix just to put food on the table. I…” Melissa’s eyes go wide and she covers her mouth with one delicate hand. “I don’t know why I told you all of that,” she mumbles against her palm.

“I don’t mind,” I tell her with a smile. “I like hearing you talk.”

She drops her hand and eyes me up suspiciously, trying to figure out if I’m giving her shit. I hate that Melissa doubts me, but I don’t blame her. From what I can tell, she’s been hurt before.

“You saw me at a pretty low point last week, and now… well, just, uh, thanks," she says before closing her eyes and shaking her head.

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