Bucking the Rules(58)

Bea hovered, but kept her mouth closed, which suited Jo just fine. And when Bea nudged one tomato over toward the sack with her index finger, Jo figured the silent gesture was better than listening to a lecture, so she gracefully accepted the tomato and moved on.

“Where are we going next?” Bea bounced next to her.

“Frozen foods.”

“No!” Bea grabbed the cart and swung it around, nearly knocking Jo into a display of Oreos.

“What the he—Bea!” Jo regained control and avoided a collision with a mom and two toddlers by inches. “Jesus, what’s your problem?”

Bea ran a hand through her hair until little blond tufts stuck out awkwardly. “Frozen food is awful for you. All those preservatives and nitrates and … stuff. You know. Let’s revisit the fresh vegetables. So much better.”

“I happen to like preservatives and nitrates.” Jo yanked the cart back in the direction she’d originally intended. “And it’s easy to pop in the oven when I’ve had a long day. Which I almost always do.”

“Okay, but first …” Bea glanced around and pointed. “I need your opinion.”

Jo sighed. “My opinion is you’re being a pain in the ass.”

“I’m not—hold on.” Bea held up a finger and reached in her bag for her phone, currently belting out the theme song to Legally Blonde. Oh, for the love of God. “Let me just … oh, damn.”

“What?”

“My agent. We’ve been playing phone tag for a while. Stay right there.” Bea shot her a dirty look. “Don’t you dare move.”

“Okay.” Jo shrugged and watched Bea answer the call and wander off, one hand over her free ear to block out noise. After she’d taken a few steps and looked suitably busy, Jo swung the cart and headed for the frozen food section.

Yeah. She’d lied. Oh, well. All’s fair in love and frozen pizza snack bites.

She turned a corner and smiled when she recognized Trace. Or rather, his back. She should have known Bea wouldn’t come to the grocery store alone. Or at all.

God, he looked good. Even just from the back. The way he stood there, weight on one leg so his hip cocked out, one hand in his back pocket, stretching the aging denim quite nicely over his adorable ass. She could barely see a piece of paper over his shoulder, and she could imagine, thanks to the way he stood frozen, he was reading an entire list of things he had no clue about. Men sent grocery shopping … not always a good idea. Well, she would just have to save him.

Slowly, Jo crept up behind him, then reached around and covered his eyes with her hands.

“Cut it out, Bea.”

Jo pressed her breasts into his back and whispered, “Not Bea.”

“Jo?” She thought she heard him mutter, “Jesus,” but she couldn’t be sure, and then he turned around. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

Why was everyone asking her that? “A girl’s gotta eat. Listen, I was thinking about picking up some steaks for tonight. Do you want to …” She trailed off, her eyes catching something to the left of Trace’s sleeve. “What’s that?”

“What?” He looked behind him, and froze again. But not in that cute I’m so confused, what’s the difference between virgin and extra virgin olive oil? sort of way. More like in the oh, shit, I’m caught sort of way. Which really had her heart racing. “It’s a baby.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” The fact of its existence made her want to take two steps back for sheer preservation. “Why is it in your cart? Are you cart sitting?”

“Cart sitting?”

“Yeah, you know …” Her mind raced as she stretched for a plausible reason why a baby would be in Trace’s cart. One that wouldn’t ruin the very thin, tenuous thread of happiness they’d started to build on. “Someone needed to pop into the other aisle so you, you know, offered to watch the cart in case some weird baby snatcher came by. Cart sitting.”

“Are there a lot of baby snatchers running around the Piggly Wiggly?” He looked a little horrified and started surveying the aisle, as if some masked robber was going to pop out from behind a freezer and yell “Gotcha!”

“Not the point.” Okay. Starting to sound a little hysterical. Breathe. Breathe. “Whose kid is this?”

Trace reached back and rubbed one hand gently over the kid’s head. “He’s mine.”





Chapter Fourteen


For a moment, Trace wondered if he’d have to catch Jo. She paled, faster than he’d ever seen anyone go pale, and he really thought he had a fainter on his hands. But she recovered and took another step back. Why did she keep doing that?