ADAM
I’m in Hamilton, Texas, for my family. My brother and his wife live here with my two nieces. My mom moved down here a few years ago, and when shit hit the fan in Chicago, it made sense that I would pack up and join them. I had other options: Los Angeles, New York, Hawaii—they need veterinarians in tropical paradises too. My family won out though, and I moved to the Lone Star state. I’ve been here almost a month now, and I regret my choice every day. It’s Saturday night. Yesterday, I was at that housewarming party for my neighbors, but now I’m grocery shopping, because that’s the kind of sad turn my life has taken. Back in Chicago, my friends are at the opening of a five-star restaurant, sipping sake—I know because they accidentally included me on the group text about the event. I had to remind them, for the tenth time, that I moved to Texas. They booed and kicked me out of the group.
But I’m not bitter.
I’m here for family.
I weave through the frozen food section and remind myself again, I’m not bitter.
I could have plans if I wanted them, but I don’t. I’m not in the dating game at the moment. I’m riding the bench, happily. There were a few women who showed interest last night at the party, and my sad, cold heart felt nothing for them. Well, that’s not all true. I did feel something for Madeleine, but I think that had more to do with annoyance than anything else. She has an uncanny way of grating on my nerves, and the fact that she just keeps popping up is getting ridiculous. I wonder if it’s a small town thing; I’m not used to it. I could go a year in Chicago without bumping into any of my friends unintentionally. By comparison, in the last few days, I’ve had the displeasure of crossing paths with Madeleine three times.
I laugh out loud.
Make that four times.
There she is standing in the medicine aisle of the grocery store, wearing a pair of short daisy dukes and a white tank top. She has on brown leather flip-flops, and even from my spot at the end of the aisle, I can see that she’s painted each of her toenails a different color.
Who is this woman?
And why am I not pushing my cart away at this very moment?
She reaches forward and inspects a box of Band-Aids, and the movement gives me an opportunity to check out her insanely sexy legs…and the matching skinned knees she is undoubtedly here to treat. A gift from Mouse, I’m sure.
Half of me thinks it serves her right for adopting such an impractical dog, and the other half of me (the part still capable of human emotion) feels slightly bad that she’s injured.
I glance away, toward the checkout. There’s no one in line. I could pay for my shit and be gone in ten minutes, or…
“Adam?”
I whip my gaze back and see her eyeing me suspiciously. I realize I do look odd, hovering there at the end of the aisle, so I push my cart forward until I’m standing right in front of her. She briefly glances over my groceries. There’s a ton of fruits and vegetables, a couple pounds of lean protein. By comparison, her basket is filled with apples, ramen, and what looks to be dusty Valentine’s Day candy on clearance. Makes sense considering it’s mid-May.
“Oh…I was just going to tell the manager that these are probably expired,” she says, defending the heart-shaped Reese’s.
I look away so she doesn’t see my smile. “You don’t have to defend your groceries against me.”
She grunts under her breath, and it catches me by surprise. Every time I’m around this woman, she has a different personality. One second she’s hot, the next she’s cold. Last night when she brought me that beer, it almost seemed like she was trying to ingratiate herself to me. Now, she’s back to being cold, aloof.
I should turn around and go checkout. After all, I’m not in the market for female companionship, friends or otherwise. Yes, I am aware of the fact that if I were looking for a woman, Madeleine would be my exact type. I’ve always had a thing for brunettes, and she wears her long hair down, loose and curly down her back, wild almost. Her skin tone is warm and inviting, and there are definitely freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Her bare legs keep drawing my attention, and for some absurd reason, I can’t find fault with her mismatching toenail polish. It’s kind of endearing.
More than all of that though, she has an air of unabashed confidence about her, like she’s never spent a single day uncomfortable in her skin. It’s sexy as hell.
“You’re being weird.”
I look away from her legs and stare up at the Band-Aids. “What?”
“First I see you hovering at the end of the aisle, frozen in place, and now you’re here, completely silent. Are you about to have a breakdown or something?”
I frown. “No. I was just…thinking.”
She puts the carton of bandages back on the shelf and instead reaches for the generic box sitting beside it.
“I take it my suit wasn’t Mouse’s only victim?”
I glance up and see her eyeing me with barely contained disdain.
“Listen, can you please spare me the lecture about what a terrible mistake it was to adopt him? I would do it again without a second thought.”
I cringe. I suppose I have been a little tough on her, especially considering her intentions came from the right place.
“You’re right, no lecture,” I begin, offering an olive branch. “You clearly love him, so there’s no point in trying to convince you to give him up.” Her eyes widen at the absurdity of that idea, so I continue, “He’s your dog.”
She nods. “Yes. Exactly.” Then she glances down at her knees and sighs. “And yes, I’ve tried to train him to heel, but as soon as he sees a squirrel or a—”
“Well-dressed stranger,” I supply, and am pleasantly surprised when she shoots me a wide smile.
“Yes, exactly. Once he spots something he likes, he just takes off with no regard for the human he’s dragging behind him.”
I nod. “It’s not unusual. All puppies are going to do that. It just wouldn’t be as much of a problem if he wasn’t so big.”
She frowns and drops the bandages into her basket. “I swear he doubles in size every night.”
“It’s not completely hopeless. There’s a puppy training class starting at the YMCA tomorrow night.”
The words are out before I have time to consider them. Do I want her in my training class? Before tonight, I would have said no, but something about her sad skinned knees plays on my heartstrings—the few I have left.
Her brows shoot up in surprise. “Really? Do you think they’d have room for one more addition?”
Tell her no.
Nothing good will come from this.
You think she’s sexy, that’s why you care about her skinned knees.
“Yeah.” I nod, starting to back away. “It should be fine.”
Apparently my mouth isn’t connected to my brain anymore.
She nods, her smile doing something weird to my insides.
“Well thanks. I really appreciate it. I know we didn’t exactly start out on the right foot—”
I’m scared she’s about to go down a road I don’t want her to, so I nod and cut her off. “That’s why we have two of ‘em. See you around.”
I hightail it out of that grocery store before she can get another word in. I hate Texas. From now on, I’m driving one town over for my groceries. No more random run-ins with Madeleine Thatcher—though I guess random run-ins won’t matter anymore because I’ve just ensured that I’ll see her every week at puppy training class. Bravo, Adam.
I wonder if it’s too late to move to Hawaii.