Page 56 of Delayed Penalty

I stomp my foot, well aware that I probably look more like a seven-year-old than the actual seven-year-old standing next to me, but I don’t care.

“Stop moving it.”

“No,” he answers simply.

I grab the separator again, but before I can get far, Hayes snatches it out of the air, stopping me. I yank on it with a grunt. He yanks back. And I go right along with it.

Suddenly, Hayes isright there, his nose barely ghosting over the tip of mine. Having him this close reminds me of the last time he was this close, when he was on top of me, kissing me senseless, when I rocked my hips against him like some wanton girl unable to control herself.

“Knock it off,” he growls, and it does nothing toclear the images from my mind. “This is included in your job.”

“We never discussed that. We?—”

“Well, I’m changing the fucking rules,” he argues. “So put your damn groceries with mine and stop arguing, or I swear, I’ll?—”

“What, Hayes? What will you do?”

He grins wolfishly, his light eyes flashing with something I can’t quite put my finger on.

“Oh, Quinn,” he says, his voice low and throaty. “I doubt you want me to answer that question in public,especiallywith little ears around.”

He flicks his eyes down to Flora, who is watching us intently, which means she’s also watching me make a complete ass of myself because I’m too stubborn to let her uncle pay for my groceries. He shouldn’t be the one paying for my stuff given how much he’s paying me to take care of his niece. I did some research, and he’s overpaying me by a lot, especially with how little experience I have doing this. With fifty grand sitting in my bank account, the least I can do is pay for my own groceries. If not for the sake of my pride, simply so I don’t go and do something reckless like spend it on clothes or shoes or handbags I really don’t need given the overloaded storage shed I’m now paying for.

“Fine,” I say, releasing the order separator, stillglowering at him. “But we’re not done with this conversation.”

He just laughs at my response, then proceeds to pay for the entire order, all the while flirting with the woman behind the register who keeps shooting daggers my way whenever he’s not paying attention. After yet another fight, heoh so graciouslyallows me to help him carry the groceries back to the house. We follow behind Flora as she carries nothing but her jar of pickles, an extra pep to her step that wasn’t there earlier.

“This is a terrible place to put this,” I mutter as I slide a jar of pasta sauce onto a shelf that’s way too high.

Hayes sighs, the paper bag crinkling as he pulls out more groceries. “And where do you suggest I put it?”

“Um, not so high that I need a step stool.” I spin to face him. “Ooh! Can I rearrange your kitchen?”

He scowls. “No.”

“Booo!”

“Booo!” Flora echoes from her spot at the kitchen table, where she’s been coloring since we got home.

I laugh. “At least she’s on my side.”

“Still bullshi—poop”—Hayes catches himself at the last minute—“that you’ve turned my niece against me.”

“She didn’t. I still like you, Uncle Adam.”

“Yeah, she still likes you, Uncle Adam,” I confirm, and I don’t miss the way his eyes darken when I tease him.

“I just like Just Quinn more.”

She says it so casually I can’t help but laugh loudly.

“What are you laughing at?” Hayes glowers at me, but I can see a twinkle in his eyes that wasn’t there when I first met him.

I suspect this ordeal with Flora has changed each of them in ways they never anticipated, and the versions I’m starting to see are much closer to who they truly are.

I finish unpacking the groceries while Hayes takes charge at the stove, spreading butter over way too many slices of bread for just three people, then topping them with far too much cheese before tossing them onto a skillet. He loads one up with pickles, which makes me grin, even though it’s disgusting.

When finished, he slides three plates onto the kitchen table—one with pickles, one plain, and one weighed down with three sandwiches. I follow behind him, dumping a handful of chips onto each plate before taking what’s become my seat over the last few weeks. We chat over our meal, mostly Flora and me ganging up on Hayes, and then he slips off to do whatever he does while I get the kid ready for bed.

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