It was only in the checkout lane that I realized how deserted the store and parking lot were. After years living in San Francisco, with its bustling streets and shops, the quiet of Hawthorne was still an adjustment. For some inexplicable reason, my heartbeat thumped double time at the idea of walking with Riley to our car by ourselves.
“Quiet night, huh?” I commented to the young woman ringing up my groceries.
The woman shrugged, a bored expression on her face. “It’s a small town.”
My reply caught in my throat as the Viking, or Cash Walker as most people referred to him, strode lithely through the door. It was really the only way to describe how he moved, with a masculine grace—a sense of ownership underneath each boot as he strode through the store.
He was dressed in blue jeans and a black tee that molded to his chiseled frame, his blond hair down tonight, falling in messy disarray close to his shoulders. If it was possible, he was more handsome than the first time I’d seen him.
“Damn,” the cashier breathed in appreciation, her gaze tracking him with a hunger I could relate to but hoped I didn’t display so blatantly.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, my mind had moved to other things. Mainly, the dark parking lot I had to get across.
“Is there someone who could help us out with our groceries?” I asked as her eyes remained trained on the aisle the Viking had disappeared down. “Excuse me?” I pressed. If there was one thing I’d learned, it was never to deny my instincts. No matter how ridiculous they may seem.
Her gaze snapped to mine. “What?” she asked in confusion, eyeing my single bag of groceries in confusion.
Riley squirmed in the cart, obviously ready to wrap up our grocery store adventure.
“Is there someone who could walk me to my car?” I asked more directly, knowing I needed to get to the point and get my daughter home.
“Oh, um, I can page the manager,” she replied as though I was crazy.
And hell, asking for an escort in a town like Hawthorne, I probably was.
Her eyes moved once again to Cash, who had emerged from the liquor aisle, placing a six-pack on the belt. I wondered if the poor girl would be able to remain standing long enough to check him out.
I thought of how Emmie had talked about the club, how they were like a family. How they looked out for each other. Cash was part of that.
“Thanks.” I moved toward the door, pulled Riley from the cart, and held her hand in mine.
“What’re we waiting for, Mama?” she asked impatiently.
“Just a second, baby,” I told her gently, watching as Cash nodded in parting to the blushing cashier and strode toward the door—where we were standing.
“Um, hi.” I intercepted him feeling awkward and yet resolved in what I needed. If Emmie trusted him, I knew I could too.
He looked at Riley and then up at me with a smirk. “No thanks, darlin’.”
I blinked once. “Um, what?”
“Not interested.” His smirk had turned to a sneer.
I felt as though he’d slapped me across the face as I stared at him, baffled. “Why do I always confuse assholes for gentlemen?” I muttered to myself, not even caring I’d cursed in front of Riley, such was my state.
“Miss, did you still need an escort to your car?” a man I assumed was the store manager asked, interrupting one of the most maddening and embarrassing encounters of my life. “I’m sorry, I was in back checking inventory.”
Cash’s brow furrowed in confusion as I turned my attention toward the only gentleman in the vicinity. “Yes, thank you,” I murmured, my cheeks flaming with anger and embarrassment. “Let’s go, baby,” I coaxed Riley, gripping her hand in one hand and the grocery bag in the other.
I didn’t spare a glance toward Cash as I shot a stiff smile toward the manager, following him out to the parking lot.
Emmie had alluded to him being full of himself; she’d skipped the part about him being a total asshole.
“Are we still making cupcakes?” Riley wanted to know as I strapped her into her booster.
“Of course,” I assured her, determined to focus on what really mattered—what had always mattered. Riley.
****