Project Produce(53)

Still holding the zucchini in my hand, I picked up my basket and rounded the corner of the fruit section and then came to a jarring stop. There stood Dylan, looking oh-so-sexy in his trademark faded Levi’s, T-shirt, and black leather jacket, as he bent over a produce bin.

I approached him, knowing darn well something was up, but I couldn’t seem to keep from eyeing his scrumptious tush to the very last second. “Hey, you. Isn’t this market a little out of the way from your place?”

Whirling around, he blinked, his bruise barely visible and stitches gone, then he flashed a grin. “Hey, yourself. This market has the best fresh fruit.” He held up the pair of twin peaches he cradled at chest level. “Feel these. They’re perfect.”

“Can’t. My hands are full.”

His eyes dropped to my breasts and then shifted to the zucchini I still had a death grip on, and I dropped it.

He winced. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”

I snatched it up off the floor. “It’s fine. I like mine soft.” His eyebrow shot up, and I cleared my throat. “And I don’t need any peaches, I already have a couple.” Oh, God, tell me I didn’t just say that.

“I can see that,” he croaked.

“I was talking about the ones in my fridge at home.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, it was good running into you, but I gotta run. See you around, Mac.”

“Bye,” I called to his retreating back, relieved that he’d left. I always made a fool of myself whenever he was around. Still, what a strange conversation that had been.

A short time later, I left the market and scanned my list. Gloria had a birthday coming up this month. They had some good sales going on, with Valentine’s Day only a week away.

Entering Macy’s, I headed to the ladies’ department. It didn’t take me long to find the perfect outfit for her. A hot and spicy red silk dress I couldn’t afford even at the discounted price, but Gloria was worth it. It would be perfect for her singing gigs.

Well, that was easy. I made my way to the register, but the lingerie department caught my eye. I was drawn to a pure silk spaghetti-strap nightgown in the same pale-green shade as my eyes. I cringed at the thought of what such a work of art must cost, but I couldn’t stop staring at it.

What the heck. I marched over, biting my bottom lip all the way, then checked the tag, and--oh, joy of joys--thirty percent off!

I really didn’t have a need for this. Still, I couldn’t resist holding it up in front of me and pulling it snug over my bumps. I twisted left and right to get a good view of all the angles. With my long legs, it would fall over my fanny to the tops of my thighs, looking more like a long T-shirt than a nightgown. Perfect. Hide my insecurity, but showcase my legs. My best asset, as far as I was concerned.

Crash!

What in the world? I whipped around and stared in disbelief at the pair of snakeskin boots sticking out from beneath a rack of bras that had toppled to the floor beside me.

“Dylan? Is that you?”

“Afraid so,” came the muffled reply from beneath.

I draped the nightgown across another rack, reached down, and lifted the rack of bras off him. He grimaced and struggled to his feet. I couldn’t hold back my laugh.

“What?” he asked, one corner of his lips tipping up in response to my laughter.

Reaching forward, I pulled the Miracle Bra off his head and held it in front of his face. “Are you trying to tell me my peaches are lacking?” God, the things that came out of my mouth. My parents would be horrified.

He shrugged, but his grin broadened. “Think your friend Gloria would like this for her birthday?”

I had told him about Gloria over Chinese food the other night and couldn’t believe he remembered. It meant he’d actually listened to me, even if his idea was completely inappropriate. “I hardly think she needs a Miracle Bra. She can barely see her feet as it is. If I give her that, she won’t be able to see the floor.” I couldn’t help laughing. “What are you doing hiding behind the bra rack in the ladies’ department?”

“Following you,” he said. “I’ve been busy, and seeing you in the market made me realize I’ve missed you.”

I parted my lips to protest, but he placed his finger over them, stilling my words.

“As a friend, Mac. A friend.” He picked up the pale-green nightie I’d been holding in front of me and fingered the material with obvious approval. “I was trying to catch up with you to see if you wanted to hang out tonight, but you threw me for a loop when you headed into all these girly things. What man would willingly stand there surrounded by a bunch of bras?”