Mallory

I can’t seem to keep the smile off my face. Handing off the last clean pot to John so that he can dry it, I see that he’s still smiling as well. After putting the pot away, he turns to me. “Ready to go to the market?”

I nod and gesture down to my feet. “Yep, just need to put on my shoes.”

John chuckles and shakes his head. “Get your purple snow boots so we can go, honey.”

Wrinkling my nose, I give him a wry look. “They’re not snow boots,” I say before I run into the living room to slip into the boots. Walking back into the kitchen I find John leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

“Babe, those boots are probably rated for Eskimo use. It’s summer in Tennessee—you’ve gotta be drowning in sweat in those things.”

Rolling my eyes, I grab my purse from the counter behind the door. “If I was walking out in the sun, maybe. Otherwise, they’re fine. You should try a pair.”

He’s in the process of opening the door when I say this. Turning, he looks at me with mock horror. “Hell will freeze over before I wear purple boots,” he laughs.

Ducking under his arm, I step out the door and down the two steps into the driveway. “Not in purple, silly. They make slide-on slippers for men and women. I have a tan pair in the ladies’ style, and they’re the bomb.”

John wrinkles his forehead as he locks the door and pulls it shut. “I wouldn’t want to chance Cleo thinking I was wearing one of her family members,” he jokes.

Laughing, I lightly slap his arm with my fingers. “It’s faux fur, silly.”

When he slings his arm over my shoulders to walk me around his giant red truck, my stomach does somersaults. “Love your laugh, babe. Didn’t get to hear it nearly enough back in Chattanooga.”

I don’t think I take another breath until he opens the door and helps me up into the seat. After John gets in and starts the truck, I pay attention as he drives us through the neighborhood and onto the main roads. I can already tell I like it here, which is a great thing. While he drives, I think on what he said about not hearing my laugh enough in Chattanooga. It’s true, and it’s probably because I’d been afraid to do or say anything that would make me seem weird. Well, weirder than I already was, anyway.

I met John when I was twenty years old—by legal definition an adult woman. By my grandmother's classification, however, I’d been a young lady who needed to be strictly guided in case I went off the rails like her son—my father—and his wife had. My parents were straight up whacky. They met at a concert, got married by a celebrity impersonator in Atlantic City, had me, worked a series of odd jobs (most that weren’t strictly legal), were all around flighty, and then they died together in Fort Lauderdale during spring break because my father was dumb enough to drive drunk.

In my grandmother's eyes, what happened to her son was down to the fact that he’d married a godless woman. I had no recollection of my parents since I’d only been three when they passed, but I wasn’t dumb. My father was as responsible for his lifestyle as my mother was. In an effort to correct what Grandma considered her mistakes, she’d been extra strict with me. To some degree, I understand why she did what she did, but knowing that John asked to date me and she turned him down—repeatedly—makes me sad. He’s what I want and has been since the first time I met him.

“Deep thoughts, babe?”

Turning his way I shake my head, not wanting to bring him down. “Just thinking about the day I had. I still can’t believe I rented an apartment in a criminal’s house.”

John makes a growly noise as he pulls into the parking lot of the supermarket and guides the car into a space. “No idea how happy I am I found you. Thinking of you sleeping there makes me a little sick.”

As he opens the driver’s door, he turns to me. “You wait for me,” he says. “I want to open your door.”

I nod and then unbuckle my seatbelt while he hurries around the front of the car. Opening the door, he reaches in and takes my hand to help me down. He keeps our fingers linked as we walk through the parking lot and into the store, only letting go when it’s time to get a cart.

“You a cart pusher or do you want me to do it?”

“You push I load?” I ask.

He grins as he pulls a cart out and then holds it still while I drop my purse in and hook the safety belt from the seat area through the handle of my purse.

“Like that you do that,” he says. “Smart. Can’t guess how many purse theft calls we get a year, but it’s a lot. Every little deterrent helps.”

We talk about crime and then move onto things he thinks I should know about the area as he wheels the cart to the dairy aisle. We make our way through the store slowly, gabbing the entire way. I pick up things for dinner for the five nights after tomorrow’s date night. When we get to the register John insists on emptying the cart. Once the cashier announces what the price is and I start to pull money out of my wallet, he gives me a look.

“You aren’t paying for our groceries, honey.”

“But—”

John shakes his head and hands the clerk his card before he turns back to me. “Don’t worry about it.”

I let it go because the cashier is busy staring at us like she’s half hoping there’s going to be some drama. Only when we get outside do I circle back around to the subject.

“Having another mouth to feed is expensive. I don’t want you wasting money on me.”

John says nothing as he wheels the cart to the truck. Only when we get there and he’s about finished loading bags into the backseat of the extended cab truck does he stop and turn my way.

“Not lookin’ at you as another mouth to feed, Mallory. Also not thinkin’ that any money spent on you is a waste. This is how I want us to be.”

When I open my mouth to answer, he holds up a finger and says, “hold up.”

Shutting the door to the truck, he takes the cart and pushes it to the return before he comes back to me. Wrapping one arm around my waist, he pulls me in close. A million and five butterflies are flapping their wings in my tummy as I look up at him.

“You really wanna have our first argument about grocery money?” he asks.

The corner of my lip curls up as I shake my head. “No.”

He sets his free hand under my chin and tilts my head back so I’m looking into his eyes. “I want to take care of you, honey. I always have. This is a privilege for me—not some burden I don’t want to take on.”

I can hardly believe any of this is happening. He really, really likes me. “You sure?” I ask.

He leans in so that his nose is almost touching mine. “I’m more than sure, Mallory. I’m fuckin’ positive.”

And then, with one tilt of his head, he’s kissing me. I open my mouth a little when his tongue traces across the seam of my lips, then let out a little sound of wonder when his tongue slides against mine. So this is kissing, I think. I always wondered what it would feel like. I’m happy to report that I love it. I meet his tongue tentatively at first but then begin to gain confidence as I learn from what he’s doing. At some point, the hand he had at my waist joins the one he has on my face. The reverent way he holds my face in his hands makes me feel treasured—and very, very warm. For the first time ever I feel like I might be sweating in my boots, and it’s not because it’s hot out. This is one hundred percent down to John Wright kissing me like he was destined for the job. Wanting to be closer, I stand on my tip-toes and wrap my arms around his shoulders.

“No one told me the supermarket was doing live entertainment in the parking lot,” someone laughs.

John groans as he pulls his mouth from mine. I blink dazedly as he steps back and turns to glare at whoever spoke.

“Shouldn’t you be home with your wife, Mayson?”

Turning, I see the man John was talking to in the basement back at Mario’s walking toward us. He nods at me and smiles before he turns his attention back to John.

“Was home with my wife until she gave me the eyes and begged me to come get her some of those shitty ice cream cookie sandwiches she loves so much. I tried to hold firm but she played dirty, got the kids involved and they all came at me with the boo-boo eyes. Now I’m here.”

“Ooh,” I laugh, “I know why they wanted them. They’re the best—we just got two boxes of those since they’re on sale.”

The man winces. “I really don’t know how anyone can like those things. They taste like cardboard.”

“Says the guy who might as well own stock in the company,” John laughs. Linking his fingers through mine, he gestures to the heavily tattooed man.

“Mallory, this is Nico Mayson. He’s on the force with me.”

I nod and smile as I hold my free hand out. “I saw him in the basement earlier,” I say to John. As Nico shakes my hand I say, “Nice to officially meet you. Just so you know, I’m not a criminal.”

He laughs as he finishes shaking my hand. “Knew that about four seconds after Hercules here breeched the door—when I realized you were going to faint.”

I groan and duck my head. “So embarrassing,” I mumble.

“Nah,” he counters. “Embarrassing was the douchebag upstairs who tried to argue his way out of a warrant. Criminals tend to act a certain way. You clearly didn’t fit the mold.”

Turning his attention to John, he says, “So, grocery shopping. Just want to point out that I called this shit.”

Looking back to me Nico says, “knew he’d have you moved in fast.”

I let out a giggle as I lean further into John, who chuckles and shrugs. “Don’t get a big head, Mayson. Statistically you were bound to be right at some point.”

Nico laughs and gives him the finger. “Nice to meet you, Mallory. Know I’ll be seein’ you around. My wife’s name is Sophie—expect you’ll be meeting her soon. The precinct wives are tight—except for the bitches. Don’t worry—Sophie’ll help you navigate the waters.”

After saying goodbye to Nico, John helps me up into the truck. It’s getting dark out now, which makes the cab of the truck feel cozy. I shiver when he reaches over with his right hand and sets it down just above my left knee.

“Best kiss of my life,” he says huskily. “Can’t wait to do it again.”

Me. Either.