Page 28 of Tides of Change
I shrugged. “I’ll fill it up. I like to shop organic and support local farmers when I can.”
“At our house, we’re fans of Kraft Mac ’n Cheese.”
I clutched my chest dramatically, pretending to shudder in mock horror. “Blasphemy.”
Garrett laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, wrapping around me like a shield against the chill. I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips in response.
The strains of a cover band floated through the air, their rendition of a classic rock song rising above the murmur of voices. The familiar melody mingled with the earthy scents of fresh produce, yeasty baked goods, and the salty tang of the sea.
We moved into the crowd, Garrett’s broad shoulders parting a path as we wandered from booth to booth.
The vibrant colors of the market seemed to bloom in contrast to the overcast skies—crimson tomatoes, leafy greens, baskets of bright oranges, and the soft pastels of homemade soaps.
I stole a glance at Garrett as he paused to inspect a crate of apples, his brow furrowed in consideration. He seemed so at ease in a way I envied. My pulse quickened when he turned, catching me mid-stare.
“What?” His lips quirked into a half-smile.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. I averted my gaze and focused on a nearby display of pumpkins.
The crowd thickened as we made our way toward a booth selling artisan bread. My cart bumped against a rogue rock on the pavement, jarring my grip, and Garrett’s hand shot out instinctively, steadying the handle.
“Careful.” His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, and I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the sweatshirt.
“Thanks,” I murmured, barely audible over the market’s noise.
We moved on and slipped into the rhythm of the day, but I couldn’t help the flicker of awareness that lingered, a subtle but undeniable pull toward the man walking beside me.
I didn’t know where this was going or what it meant. All I knew was that the ominous clouds, the crowd, the stalker lurking in the shadows of my life—they all seemed to fade for a little while, leaving only Garrett and the quiet strength of his presence.
Garrett’s hand landed on the small of my back again and again, a brief but steadying touch that sent a ripple of heat through me. His casual gestures—placing his fingers lightly on my elbow or brushing against my shoulder as we walked—seemed so natural, yet they branded me every time. Did he realize how often he touched me? Did he notice the way my breath hitched?
I found myself leaning closer to him as we moved through the crowd, drawn to his presence. The air was rich with the scent of fresh herbs, but all I could focus on was Garrett—his warmth, his strength, his quiet protectiveness. “Where is Noah today?”
“He’s with Ava’s parents. They live down the coast. Hopefully, getting him out of town will keep him out of sight, out of mind.”
My stomach churned at the thought that just being connected to me might have put him in danger. The thought of Noah—innocent and full of life—being caught in the crossfire made my chest tighten.
I scanned the crowd, my gaze flitting over faces and movements, looking for anything out of place. No one seemed to pay us any attention, but unease wrapped around me like a shroud.
Garrett noticed, of course. His hand found my back, this time rubbing gently in small, soothing circles. “I haven’t seen anyone following us,” he said, low and steady. “Relax.”
The tension in my shoulders melted under his touch, and I let his strength bolster me. For a moment, I felt safe.
“Good morning, Garrett,” a man passing by greeted him with a nod.
Garrett straightened immediately and put a noticeable distance between us. The warmth of his touch vanished, replaced by a hollow ache in my chest. Disappointment settled like a weight in my stomach, heavy and unwelcome.
Was he ashamed of being seen with a man? With me? The thought stung. But then again, he’d been touching me all morning—in public, no less. He was confusing, a swirl of mixed signals and contradictions that left me reeling.
Did he even know what he wanted?
I swallowed the questions, unwilling to let them spoil the peaceful rhythm of the day. I had to be patient and let him decide on his own time.
We continued walking and stopped at booths as we browsed. I filled my cart with jars of pasta sauces, bundles of seasonal vegetables, crusty artisan bread, and a pumpkin for my porch. Garrett added muffins, fragrant apples, and canned fruits to my pile, his choices clearly made with Noah in mind.
By lunchtime, the smoky aroma of grilled chicken led us to a food stand. The scent was irresistible, making my stomach growl audibly, and I treated Garrett to street tacos and cold lemonade served in Mason jars.
“Thanks for taking me shopping,” I said as we sat at a small table tucked off to the side.
