Page 45 of The Heart Shot
I gave a sheepish smile. “Uh…” I racked my brain for any answer other thanyou, of course,but the only thing my mind could come up with was, “Cheese?”
The corners of her lips twitched again, and I made a show of turning to the cheese display and studying them intently. The text on each label blurred before my eyes, and I couldn’t make out which was which. When did they change cheese labels to another language? I swore the letters did a little jig, taunting me for being an idiot.
How could one person scramble my brain so much? I waited a solid thirty seconds, hoping that was long enough to make me seem like a serious cheese shopper, before glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.
“Need any help?” I nodded at the blocks in her own hands.
She stared at the cheese for a moment too long before looking at me, her nose scrunching again. “Help with picking out cheese?”
I gave a vigorous nod, as if cheese selection was a life-or-death decision. I stepped closer, forcing my eyes to focus and read the label.
“Mmm, gouda,” I hummed, tapping the one in her left hand. “Great snacking cheese with crackers. Also melts well on meat. If you cook chicken breast, then put gouda and jalapenos on top, it’s delicious.”
I was rambling. About cheese.
I met her gaze, expecting to see alarm at my obvious insanity. Instead, the edges of her lips curled ever so slightly.
“And this one?” she asked, holding the other block out.
I took it from her just so I could brush my fingers against hers, a shiver running through me with the mere touch.
Oh boy, I needed help.I had clearly been single for too long.
It had been close to eight years since I had been in any type of serious relationship, and it was evident I was a little rusty. Outside of the almost kisses with Elsie, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d received any sort of physical affection that wasn’t from a family member.
My eyes finally focused on the cheese label. It was a wedge of parmesan.
Gouda and parmesan? I peeked in the basket hanging off her arm. There was a roll of refrigerated cinnamon rolls, a loaf of bread, and a giant jug of orange juice. Not exactly the most versatile ingredients.
I coughed, handing the cheese back to her. “Parmesan is a delicious nutty and salty cheese that goes well on just about anything. Salads, soups, pasta…” I trailed off when she bit her lip, fighting a smile.
“Is that so?” Was her tone flirtatious, or was I imagining it?
“Mmm, yep.”
Mmm yep?Where did the cool, confident, smooth Jameson go?
Then Elsie smiled,full on smiled, and I realized smooth Jameson had dissolved into a puddle on the floor.
A quiet chuckle escaped her lips, and she set the gouda back on the refrigerated shelf.
“Parmesan it is then.”
“Good—” My voice cracked, like a teenager instead of the fully grown adult that I was, and I coughed, clearing my throat. “Good choice. Need any more help?” I offered, desperate for even a few more seconds with her.
“Are you some sort of food guru or master chef?”
“My mom taught me how to cook, but I’m no expert,” I answered honestly. “But if it lets me hang around you, I’ll be whatever you need.” A lovely pink tint rose in her cheeks, and she tucked her hair behind an ear.“Unless you’d rather I leave,” I added, hoping with everything in me that she wanted me to stay.
Elsie hesitated again, and my stomach dropped. Would she tell me to leave? Would she say she didn’t want to see me outside of our dates? I thought our spontaneous lunch at Chick-Fil-A had been a lot of fun—besides the choking part—but I didn’t know if she felt the same. Maybe she really wanted nothing to do with me at all. The thought of that cut deeper than I cared to admit.
“No, you can stay,” she said at last, heading down the nearest aisle, the swish of her hair sending a wave of jasmine shampoo into my nose, and my knees weakened.
Relief swept over me, like walking into an air-conditioned house after spending all day in the hundred-degree heat, as I watched her scan the shelves. With her back to me, I took a moment to study her. She wore a long, blue sweater over a pair of black leggings that did wonders for her legs. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting to sitting on the couch with my arms around her, running my hands up those legs—
Stop it, Jameson. Get a grip.
I swallowed hard, shaking the thought from my mind. It took me a minute to get my feet unglued from the floor before I followed her, staying a respectable distance away.
