Eden

At the conclusion of my workday, I make the journey back into town to Jackson’s market. Margie and I got lunch earlier from the gas station—which, oddly, (at least to me) carried homemade meals made by the owner’s wife, Kelly. The buffalo chicken wrap was to die for and half of it is back in my fridge, but I can’t eat takeout all the time, no matter how good it is. Since it is ten after six and the store closes at six thirty—something you’d never see happen in Jersey City—I’m only going to be able to stock up on the basics. Right now, that’s good enough.

Like everywhere I’ve been today, this store is a gem. I never dreamt I’d live somewhere that the grocery store could be described as delightful, but it truly is. Even the produce scales are adorable. Instead of the digital versions I’m used to, this store has antique yellow Detecto scales hanging from the ceiling on chain links. After knocking on several cantaloupes, I choose one and bring it to my nose. Taking a whiff, I let out a small sound of pleasure as the scent of my favorite melon invades my senses. I think there’s really something to this whole country life thing because the food definitely smells and feels fresher—and, bonus for my bank balance, it’s cheaper.

Shopping here is actually pleasurable. I’d meander my way through and enjoy it to the fullest but since it’s about to close I need to make this quick. After loading up on produce, I head to the dairy section and then hurry through the rest of the aisles. I can’t resist throwing two chocolate bars in my cart because they’re on sale, two for a dollar.

I come to an abrupt halt as I round the corner from the last aisle and see Donovan Beckett standing at the only open checkout. For about two seconds I debate leaving my cart and hauling ass from the store. Then I remember that I’m an adult and I can handle myself just fine. Wheeling my cart toward the front of the store, I take note of the fact that it isn’t just me Donovan puts the stand back vibe out to. Currently his arms are crossed over his chest and he’s watching the cashier ring up his order in silence. It’s a marked departure from the scene when I walked into the store tonight when the same cashier was busy yapping it up with the customer who’d been in her line then.

I get all the way to the checkout without him noticing me. Feeling pretty good about it, I start grabbing things from my cart and placing them on the back end of the conveyor system. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him visibly stiffen—silly me, I thought it would be impossible for his already board straight body to get any more rigid—and look down at me. My eyes miss the memo my brain is sending about not acknowledging him, because the next thing I know I’m looking up, directly into his glacier-like eyes. I open my mouth to say something but only a little squeak comes out. Donovan glares at me before he turns his body so that I’m not in his field of vision. I let out a huff of annoyance as I glare at his back. What an uptight dick.

“Well hello there,” the checkout clerk says cheerfully as she rings up more of Donovan’s groceries. “You’re the new girl from up at Miller’s, right?”

Although Donovan doesn’t turn or look at me, yet I’m positive he’s listening, even though he’s pretending to be alone on the planet. I nod my head at the cashier as she slides another item through the scanner and deposits it into a brown bag.

“Word traveled that fast?” I ask.

“There aren’t a lot of surprises in small towns, but it’s a good thing. Most people around here,” she says with a pointed look at Donovan, “are very friendly.”

I can feel my cheeks turning pink. “Uh, yeah. I noticed. I mean, I’ve noticed how friendly people are. Everyone I’ve met so far has been lovely. I’m from New Jersey so slowing things down and knowing my neighbors will be a new experience. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Small town living will get right into your blood,” she says sweetly as she scans three more of Donovan’s items through. Judging by what she’s ringing up, he has a thing for canned tuna, beef jerky, and protein bars.

“I know our selection isn’t as big as what you’d be used to in the big city, but if you need anything you just tell me, and I can order it in special. Just call here and ask for me—I’m Gloria, by the way. Gloria Jackson. Family’s owned this market for three generations. What’s your name, hon?”

I’m doing my best to ignore Donovan, but it’s hard with his attention on me. It only gets more difficult when I feel his gaze shift my way, like he’s interested in my answer. Forcing myself to pretend I don’t notice him at all, I keep my eyes on Gloria.

“Eden.”

“What a lovely name. It really fits you, sweetie,” she says cheerfully as she scans and bags the last of Donovan’s order. “That’ll be twenty-eight fifty.”

I turn and look at him when he doesn’t react to Gloria, only to find that the reason he hasn’t responded is that his attention is on me. He grimaces when our eyes meet, his jaw clenching as he stares down at me. The tension between us feels tangible, the air so thick with it I’m shocked it isn’t visible.

“Twenty-eight fifty,” Gloria repeats.

He doesn’t move or react. Neither do I. I’m aware that she’s speaking but this pull between us demands my attention, so I continue staring at him. Aside from his ticking jaw, his face is almost completely devoid of expression, something that rings a ton of warning bells as his eyes hold me in place.

“Donovan. Twenty-eight fifty.”

In a nanosecond, his eyes are diamond hard again. Turning away from me, he takes out his wallet, pulls out a twenty and a ten, and hands the money off to Gloria. While she makes his change, he grabs the handles of the four brown bags sitting at the end of the counter. Once she hands him his change and receipt, he grunts out a thanks, and walks out without another word.

“So I see you know Donovan,” she says the second the glass door closes behind him.

I know I’m blushing as I shake my head in the negative. “Um, actually, no. We haven’t been introduced yet.”

Gloria barks out a laugh as she starts ringing up my groceries. “You might be waiting a while, honey. He’s been coming in here for seven years and I don’t think he’s ever formally introduced himself to me or anyone else on staff. Pricklier than a porcupine, that one is. Never saw him pay anyone a lick of attention until just now.”

“Huh,” I murmur as I fidget with the amber beaded bracelet on my wrist while I look out the large front windows and surreptitiously watch Donovan loading his groceries into his truck. Surprise, surprise—it’s black. There’s something so severe about him. I wonder what he does for a living, because I can’t imagine it involves other humans.

Forcing my attention back to Gloria I blurt, “What is he?”

She raises her brows in question she slides my two cans of soup across the scanner. “What do you mean?”

As I go to answer, the sensation of being watched hits me hard. Goosebumps spread across my skin as I brush my hair behind my ear and force myself not to look out the front window.

“Career,” I clarify.

“Skip tracer,” she answers.

I make a mental note to do a Google search for skip tracing as Gloria weighs some of my fruit. Unable to stifle the urge, I look out the windows toward Donovan’s black Ford truck. He’s inside it now, and although I can’t see him through the tint on his front windshield, I know he’s looking at me.

“That’ll be forty-two eighty-one.”

Turning my attention to Gloria, I take out fifty dollars and hand it over. I don’t look back toward the window, but I still know exactly when his truck pulls out and drives off.

Clearly, I need to do a better job of ignoring Donovan Beckett.