Chapter Twenty-Six
Emma
I don’t say anything about the dream he had in the car. But he’s in an odd mood. The hotel is the kind of place people use for prolonged stays, but we just have one night there. It has a stove, microwave, and mini-fridge. Not much of a kitchen, but I can work with it. The drawers contain a few utensils. A cabinet has a few pots and pans. There are two place settings, too. We deposit our bags and take inventory of it all before we go shopping.
He wears cargo shorts and a white button-down shirt. I decide to wear a white sundress. I’m tired of him seeing me in jeans or sweats. I’m tired of seeing myself in those things. His eyes scan me. Thank you, white sundress. Good job.
We head out to the grocery store. Doing something normal with Aiden is strange. He carries the plastic basket as I toss things into it.
“What are you making me?” he asks, his body pressing against mine, his lips against my ear. “Whatever it is, it better be a lot, ’cause I’m starving.”
“How about a stir-fry? Is that okay?”
“Perfect. I can help.”
“You cook?”
“Cooper, I’m offended. You’ve tasted my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.”
“Actually, I can make real food, too. I’ve been cooking for myself for long time now.”
I take a large, blood-red orange and aim it at the basket. The shot was too long, but Aiden holds the basket up, catching it.
“You gonna put that in the stir-fry?”
“Nope. I’m just in the mood for an orange.” Ever since the stunt at the bar when he held the fruit against my lips, I’ve been craving it. His smile turns wicked as he takes another orange, rubbing it against his chest before tossing it into our basket.
“Me too, Cooper. Me too.”
“Should we get wine?” I ask him.
“Sure, as long as you don’t throw it.”
He sets down the basket. We peruse the wine aisle. I hum along with the in-store radio. There are no lyrics, but the song sounds familiar. Aiden wraps his arm around me, his muscles pressing against my back. I tilt my head. He kisses my cheek. I could be in this position a long time. It’s a little too comfortable, especially after a long drive.
“We never had our dance.”
“No.”
“Dance with me now,” he says, keeping his hands on my arm.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?”
I look around. “Um. We’re in a grocery store.”
“Is that a rule? We can’t dance in a grocery store?”
“I don’t know.”
He grins, his large hands caressing my arms. “Let’s see if they throw us out.”
He turns me toward him. He puts one of my hands on his hip and the other on his shoulder. Before I know it, he’s leading us, spinning me. He moves with confidence. I follow every step, like we have a natural rhythm. He leans his forehead against mine.
“Looks like you lied to me, too, Sheffield.”
He blinks his eyes. “I did?”
“You said you couldn’t dance.”
“No, angel, I said I didn’t dance. I never said couldn’t.”
“Then why now?”
“I guess I found the right partner.”
I try to tame my gushing girl-smile to no avail. The song is long and slow. I’ve heard it before but can’t place it. Aiden fills in the lyrics, though. His deep, raspy voice almost has a drawl. As he completes each verse, my heart beats a little harder.
“Who is this?”
“How can you be such an expert on classic rock and not know Gordon Lightfoot? The song’s called ‘If You Could Read My Mind.’”
“Oh yeah, I like this one—very romantic.”
A few people stop to stare at us between picking out beer or wine. I’m not embarrassed, though. I’m lost in the moment, because Aiden’s eyes hold me as much as his arms do.
“You’ve got some moves, Sheffield.”
“It’s easy to move with you, beautiful.” His fingers rub my lower back. “Get ready for the dip.”
“No dip.”
He exaggerates a hurt look. “Are you gonna deny me the dip?”
I stand on my tippy toes and kiss his check. “Okay, dip me.”
Before I know it, his strong arms clasp me and I’m at a low angle. I almost gasp at the shock, but he covers his lips with mine, swallowing all my uncertainties.
I know what being high means—the kind that drugs induce. I’ve experienced it in college a few times. Also, the natural kind where you exert your body in such a way that you reach a plane of potential few people get to. I’ve never gotten there myself, but I know that’s the kind of high Aiden seeks. But I have never experienced this floating on air feeling where my normal laugh becomes a giggle and my body flushes whenever he touches me.
The spell lasts until we’re walking out to the parking lot.
“It’s not a romantic song,” he says, putting the groceries in truck.
“What?”
“It not a romantic song. Not really. He walks away from her in the end.”
“Why would he do that?”
Aiden shrugs, starting up the car. “Who knows? Everyone’s got chains.”
Oh, Aiden, if only I could read your mind.