Didn’t take a genius to see her bank account as I walked up. Surprised me that she had at least ninety-seven dollars with how badly her business was failing. Still, color me intrigued as she spoke against sugar, then stacked her cart with it. She had to be shopping for someone else, even though I hadn’t seen anyone else.
Not your business, Mav, I reminded myself. I steered toward the chicken breasts in the meat aisle. Stay out of it and go back to Grandpa’s place.
But I didn’t.
My cart just seemed to follow hers.
“Chicken breasts?” she asked, a smirk on those bright lips. Her thick, glossy black hair swung around her shoulders. It had been a while since I’d seen eyes that blue.
“Root beer?” I countered.
She blushed but didn’t elaborate.
“So”—I leaned on the cart—“I gave you one weakness.”
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I asked for it, thanks.”
“Even better. So, what’s one of yours?”
She hesitated, then let out a long breath. “My dad’s motorcycle.”
“Kind?”
She eyed me, then steered down the frozen fruit aisle, setting a smoothie mix in the cart.
“Triumph Bonneville.”
“A cruising man.” I tsked. “I like it. Bonnevilles are smooth. My dad rode one before—”
Her eyebrow perked up. “Before?”
“Before,” I said with finality. She wasn’t diving into her ghosts, so I wouldn’t dive into mine. “How long have you been riding?”
“Eight months. But I first tried it when he bought it almost a year ago.” She gave a tiny smile. “I love it.”
“He bought it before he died, I’m assuming?”
Her eyes tapered, but no other change registered in her face. “Yes.”
“I overheard your customer the other day.” No reason for her to label me a stalker this early. Though it seemed I wasn’t far off. “I’m sorry you lost him.”
She softened almost entirely, like melted butter. Then she snapped back together and eyed me with her usual suspicion. Felt better to be on firmer ground, although I liked that gentle edge.
“How often do you ride it?” I asked, steering back to safe territory. We pushed through the freezer aisle again. She kept half her attention on the freezer doors as I grabbed a bag of frozen peas and kale.
“I used to ride it every day. I—” She cut herself off. I acted like I didn’t notice and grabbed frozen blueberries. When she slipped behind me, her arm barely touched my back. I suppressed a shudder.
“When did you get your license?”
“This is more like an interrogation,” she said with a wry smile, tossing a pint of vanilla into the cart. She kept moving.
Intriguing girl.
She wasn’t shopping for her father, so who was she hiding?
Doesn’t matter, Mav, I reminded myself. She’s giving you internet and a place to turn around so you can get out of here and start over.
Because I didn’t want to be CRO for Mallory.
I wanted to talk to Bethany.
“I have an Indian Scout that I drive to work every day,” I said to distract myself from the silky threads of her hair falling across her neck.
“Oh?” Her voice lifted, and the genuine excitement that slipped into her smile hit me like a brick in the chest. “Not a Harley fan? That wins you points.”
I didn’t tell her I wanted all the points.
“How long have you had it?” she asked.
While I spoke about getting my first dirt bike at fourteen and stretched the easy topic out for a while, she relaxed. Navigating every aisle slowly, she opened up like a hesitant flower. I kept the chatter easy. Nonchalant.
“Never tried the Harley for more than a few hours at a time,” she admitted. “Dad loved them but never bought one. Too rattly for me. I have a couple of trips mapped out, though. Four- and five-day rides through the mountains, mostly on dirt roads.”
“Terrible idea for a Triumph.”
She grinned. “I know. I’d rent a hybrid, or borrow from a friend.”
“Harleys are loud and not ideal for long trips, depending on how you like the bike to handle. But as long as you’re in the open air?” I shrugged, leaving the rest implied.
She grinned, her face illuminated. Picturing her riding on a motorcycle next to me did funny things to my stomach, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake after all. Of all the businesses to save, why did I pick hers?
I already knew the answer to that.
“Now it’s my turn,” she said. “I get to ask a question.”
“Shoot.”
I tried to stay casual as I eyed a package of jerky.
“Do your tattoos have any significance?”
My gaze dropped to my left arm. Her bottom lip blanched as she bit into it. As if she worried the question were too personal.
To set her at ease, I smiled. “Most of them are my nieces’ and nephews’ names, wrapped around some design work.”
She smiled back, all velvet now.
“That’s lovely to hear. You must have a big family.”
“Huge. Well, relatively. Five brothers, four are married. The family reunions get a bit intense, but they’re always fun.”
“All of them have kids?”
“Just three, but it totals a whopping ten nieces and nephews.”
“Definitely enough for a sleeve,” she said, laughing. “I’m very jealous.”
“You like utter chaos and tribalism between young children?”
“Better than the silence,” she said quietly.
We ended at the same cash register run by a pimply high school kid. I gestured for her to slide in first. She unloaded her cart, grilling me on my family. She seemed fascinated. Shocked that I saw them so often.
Baxter and Mallory had built six brand-new houses in a wide cul-de-sac, then gifted one house to each member of my family. Some of my siblings lived there full time, near my parents. Some visited. I kept mine mostly furnished as a guesthouse and stayed there once every few months. The arrangement made for interesting Sunday dinners.
“One hundred fifteen dollars and forty-five cents,” the cashier said, drawing her attention back. Bethany reached for her purse, then stopped.
“Sorry, how much?”
The kid looked up through glazed eyes. “One hundred fifteen dollars and forty-five cents.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, looking through the items while he started to bag them. She riffled through the cash side of her wallet, finding only an extra dollar there. I was just reaching for my credit card to offer it when she shot me a dirty glare, produced another piece of plastic, and slid it over.
“Here.”
I put my hand back on the grocery cart as if nothing had happened.
Bethany tapped her pink shoe, chewing her bottom lip, while the cashier ran the credit card through. Then she held her breath. Finally, the machine chugged out a receipt, and he handed the card back. She let out a long breath.
“Have a great evening,” he muttered.
Bethany took the card, shoved it into her wallet, and loaded her groceries into the cart. She stood there awkwardly for a moment before she turned around.
“Thanks,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes. “See you in the morning.”