Page 27 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
Gideon tossed a dozen pairs of insulated gloves into the basket and grabbed a new rechargeable headlamp since his old one had finally given up last week.
“Need anything?” he asked, glancing back.
“Yes. A Lysol wipe and a label maker. This place is chaos.”
He grinned. “Well, now I know what to get you for Christmas.”
He grabbed a couple of waterproof firestarter packets, mostly because he liked how Juliana’s eyes widened like she was mentally calculating flammability ratings.
She wandered toward a display of water-resistant outerwear, tentatively fingering the edge of a puffy vest like she was waiting for it to bite her. “This entire place is covered in plaid and camo.”
“Don’t forget hunter orange.”
She gave him a withering look. “I thought cowboys wore leather and cowboy hats.”
He winked and put on his western drawl. “Well now, darling. I don’t usually call myself a cowboy, but I’ll show you my Stetson when we get back to the ranch if it makes you feel better.”
A delicious shade of pink flooded her cheeks and muttered something about “backwards baseball cap” he couldn’t quite make out.
He paused in the snowmobile section and grabbed a few quarts of engine oil and some lubricant, throwing it all in the basket before he headed to the register. He nodded to the kid behind the counter. “Afternoon, Carter. You guys getting ready for snow duty?”
The college-aged clerk gave a lazy salute. “Dad’s making me help put out the fencing this weekend.”
“Tell him to call me if y’all need a hand.”
As Carter rang them up, Gideon glanced at Juliana, who was watching the exchange like it had never occurred to her that people still talked to each other without scheduling it two weeks in advance.
“You hungry?” he asked once they stepped outside.
She hesitated. “Kind of. But I haven’t had a chance to look up reviews yet.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Restaurant reviews,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “Menus. Photos. Sometimes people upload pictures of the booths if you know where to look.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I like to know what I’m walking into.”
He leaned against the hood of the truck, arms folded. “Do you also call ahead to make sure the saltshakers are evenly spaced?”
“No...” She chewed her lip. “I did once cancel a brunch reservation because of chipped plates.”
He let out a low whistle. “How dare they.”
She leveled him with a look. “I just don’t want to waste a perfectly good meal on somewhere that serves cold fries.”
He reached for the truck door and pulled it open for her with a grin. “I promise you won’t find any cold fries where we’re going, Jules.”
She bristled at the nickname, but only a little. “I just like to know what I’m walking into,” she repeated. “Ambiance. Average portion size. What if we end up somewhere that serves quail foam on slate rocks?”
“Then we’ll learn to love quail foam.” He jerked his head toward the gas station across the street. “Or we could go for theSaturday special from Raj. Butter chicken with a side of naan and garlic breath.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek, visibly torn. “I’m not eating at a gas station.”
“You didn’t plan to. But you still can.”
She gave him a long look. “Do youeverplan anything?”
