“I don’t always eat cereal,” said a false-low voice behind him. He flipped around to find Bree smiling. “But when I do, I eat peach.”
His heart kicked him in the ribs. She was dressed casual, her hair hanging over one shoulder in a loose braid. A feeling of release came over him. He hadn’t realized how tense he was when she wasn’t around until she was there and the feeling released.
He laughed. “You’re implying I’m the most interesting man on the planet.”
“I’m implying you hold the box like you’re in a commercial.”
“Ah— I have some practice.”
Her eyebrows went up. His gaze swept over her dark hair and her liquid brown eyes framed by those too-large glasses. “Let me guess, Wheaties?”
“I wish!” He reached for Ball-Os—an upstart in the cereal business made with no GMO products. He was featured on the back of the box. “We all have to start somewhere.”
She practically ripped the box from his hands. “You’re kidding me!” Her mouth hung open as her eyes jumped from him to the box and back again. “I’m buying this.” She grabbed two more boxes and dropped them in her cart.
He tipped his head back and laughed. “I hope everyone buys three because of my picture.”
“They won’t if they don’t see it.” She turned the remaining boxes, all three of them backwards on the shelf, so his face was forward, and dusted off her hands. “Much better.”
He cuffed her shoulder.
She leaned heavily to the side and caught herself on the cart.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
She looked around. “Are you on any other products I should know about?”
“Not in this store.” The sports-drink people didn’t put athletes on their packaging. His contract with them was for on-field footage and a few personal appearances.
She snapped her fingers. “Shoot.”
He grinned at her like a dope. But she was corny and funny and his chest felt lighter when she was around—like it was okay to just be him and being on a cereal box was cool.
He peered into her cart. “What is all that?” He pointed at the cocoa powder, bag of sugar, several bags of chocolate chips, butter, and other baking supplies.
She began pushing the cart down the aisle, and he followed alongside. They made quite the pair, his huge frame and cart of fresh fruit and veggies and her tiny stature and cart full of calories. “Someone has to make the brownies for the bake sale.” She shrugged. “I thought I’d branch out and try oatmeal cookies too.” She pointed to a tub of quick oats.
“I can’t wait to sample those.” Thankfully, Kyle had eaten most of the brownies he’d bought last week. If Bree was hustling brownies, he would be to polka night early and stand sentinel to ensure no one asked her to dance but him.
“Get in line.” She winked, and he about fell into his cart. She pretended not to notice, but her lips twitched. They headed to the checkout. “So, I’m baking. What are you doing today?”
He wished he had something impressive to say likereviewing my stockportfolioorchanging the oil in my car.A memory popped into his head from the website that interested him in Schulenburg in the first place. “I thought I could tour some of the local churches.” Lame. Lame. Lame. He sounded like a dorky tourist.
She placed the chocolate chips on the conveyer belt. “Lovely! I haven’t been inside many of them for years.” Her lashes dropped. “Care for some company from a f-friend?”
Was she not happy to be his friend or something? Was that why she stuttered? Or was it something else? He rubbed his fingers across his thumb. “I’d love some company.” He left out the reference to a friend, not sure if it would make her feel uncomfortable. She’d mentioned several times that she wasn’t the type to hang out with a football player. He didn’t want to scare her away. “What about the cookies?”
“I can bake when it’s dark.”
“Great.” His chest inflated and lifted like a helium balloon.
“I need to get the milk home. Do you want to meet or …?”
“I’ll pick you up on the bike—if that’s okay?”
Her smile stretched from cheek to cheek and lifted her glasses. “I’d like that.” She paid quickly. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
He nodded.