“Come on, Reagan,” he crooned. “Humor me. Stick your hand out the window. Take a deep breath in. What do you see?”
It angered her—his constant battering of trying to help her see. But what was she to do? Leap from the truck? She’d committed to the grocery store outing, and now she was good and freaking stuck. Better to humor him, so he’d possibly drop the whole damn thing. Silently, she stuck her hand out the window.
“It’s windy,” she said.
“Tsk, tsk, I call no being a smart-ass,” he joked. “Of course it’s windy. I’m driving fifty-five miles an hour. Now feel it again. And take a big whiff.”
Reagan let her hand drift outside the open window and thought about it. Felt the moisture cling to her skin. Slowly, she inhaled, exhaled. She rubbed her fingers together. “A storm. The air feels heavy, and it has a salty, earthy scent.”
“You got it,” he agreed. “Big black clouds are swirling overhead.”
“I thought you said it was a gorgeous day?” Reagan asked.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?” He added, “I love storms.”
Reagan thought back—way back, to before she and Em left Cassabaw. “You always did,” she answered quietly.
“You remember.” Eric laughed softly. “Sitting on the end of the dock, watching those storms roll across the river,” he mused. “Then, when the rain started to sting our skin, or lightning flashed, we’d run for the dock house and stay crammed under the quilt table until the storm passed.”
A smile tugged at Reagan’s mouth. “I don’t remember much, but yeah, I do recall that.”
“Good times,” Eric said. “Childhood is the best. Okay, what kind of music do you like?”
At least he was a decent conversationalist. No uncomfortable silent lull looming over their heads. “I...don’t know. Any kind.”
“God, Reagan.” He groaned. “You’re killin’ me. Come on. There has to be something you love. How about the crazy tunes your sister digs?”
Reagan laughed lightly. “To a certain extent, yeah. But definitely not to Em’s capacity.” She thought. “Classic rock, I guess.”
“Now you’re talkin’,” he said, and after a moment, the Eagles’ “Hotel California” began that mournful opening. “Remember how we loved this one?”
Reagan nodded. “Still do.”
The music continued and the Eagles began to sing the lyrics. Joined by Eric. And he sang loudly.
“Don’t ya remember the words?” he finally asked.
“Of course,” she answered.
She shook her head and wondered about Eric Malone’s motives.
Soon, the truck bumped and jerked to a halt, and the engine went silent. “We’re here,” Eric announced. In the next second her door was being opened. A slight breeze brushed her skin, sultry, salty. Eric’s hand closed around her elbow, and she stepped out of the truck.
“Okay, okay, one thing, Malone,” Reagan said. Eric was close—she could see his dark form a few inches away. Taller than her for certain. And broad. She could smell his soapy skin. Feel his body heat. “Don’t treat me like a blind person. Okay? It’s embarrassing.”
“Define ‘like a blind person,’” he answered. His voice washed over her, quiet now and raspy. “Just so I’ll be clear on the matter.”
Reagan sighed. “Like, let me do things,” she said. “Yes, if I’m about to step out into a line of traffic, pull me back. But I don’t want people staring at me like I’m helpless. I’m not.”
He was quiet for a moment, and Reagan nearly squirmed under what she assumed was his scrutiny. “Did you know you have the most adorable nose I’ve ever seen?” he said softly. “In my life.”
Reagan felt her cheeks burn. “You’re trying to distract me from my point.”
He tugged her elbow, and she shifted away from the truck door. He closed it, and the vibration of metal shimmied next to her. “Don’t worry, Reagan Rose,” he said close. “I know you’re more than capable. No treating you like a blind person. Copy that. Now stop stalling and let’s hit the aisles. I’m starved.”
Why Eric’s close proximity and blunt words affected her so much, she hadn’t a clue. Whether he was ticking her off or making her cheeks turn hot, he affected her.
She could only pray he didn’t notice.
“UM, MA’AM? EXCUSE ME,” a woman’s voice said, close to Reagan. She had a nasal voice and heavy Southern-belle accent, and pungent perfume wafted off her in a heavy cloud that nearly took Eric’s breath away. He watched her lean closer to Reagan, a smile caked with lipstick spreading across her face.
Reagan turned her head slightly. “Sorry, yes?”
“Your blouse is on inside out, honey,” the woman said. “And you have on one white sneaker and one blue one.” She gave a squeaky laugh. “Didn’t know if you knew it or were starting a new trend!”
“New trend,” Reagan muttered. “Thanks anyway.”
“No prob!” The woman turned and grinned at Eric, her eyes moving over him in blatant flirtation. Early thirties maybe, and sporting a large rock on her wedding finger; he simply nodded. She waved and sauntered off to the next aisle.
Reagan simply stood there, looking mad. With her head tilted back, just a little, her chin jutting upward, she sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
Eric wiped his smile with his hand. “Incredibly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she spat.
Eric couldn’t help but laugh, but he covered it up by clearing his throat. “Reagan, I swear I tried.”
Reagan shook her head. “You weren’t very convincing! Can we just hurry, please?” Her voice was an aggravated whisper.
Eric leaned close to her ear and noticed how nice she smelled. Fresh, like some kind of wildflower. “You are insanely cute. No one cares, Reagan. Relax.”
“That woman noticed,” she answered.
Eric glanced around, but the woman was long gone. “That’s because she’s one of those busybodies. Into everyone’s biz. So don’t worry about it.”
Reagan lifted her head high, then slid her shades off her face and tucked them into her bag. “I feel totally stupid.”
Reaching for a shopping cart, Eric pushed it beside her and placed her hand on the bar. He closed her fingers over it. “You only feel as stupid as you allow people to make you feel, darlin’. Now, come on. Push.”
She began to walk, slowly. “You want me to push?”
“Sure, why not? Let’s hit the produce first.” He leaned toward her again. “I’m right next to you, so don’t worry. I won’t let you take out a pyramid display of canned yams or anything.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Eric studied her as he pulled Jep’s grocery list from his back pocket. “My pleasure.” She had on white shorts that showed toned, tan legs, a worn white Converse and a worn navy Converse—which totally cracked him up. Her navy tank was indeed inside out, with the little silky tag on the side seam hanging loose. Her arms were firm with perfectly shaped female biceps—not too big, but definitely defined. Her tanned skin was nearly flawless, save the occasional rogue freckle here and there, as well as