Page 265 of Broken Saint
“I’m really not, but I’ll be anything you want me to be.”
“Just my fiancé right now,” I tease.
“Fuck. I love the sound of that,” he breathes before turning toward me, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, and pulling me over the center console of the rental that I still have. “Did I tell you that I missed you?” he asks, his eyes bouncing between mine.
“Yeah, but I’ll happily hear it again.”
“I missed you, Bombshell.”
He leans in, letting his lips brush mine for a few sweet kisses before he continues where we left off in the terminal.
By the time we pull out of the parking lot, I’m breathless and squirming in my seat, more than ready for what comes next.
“I need to stop at the store,” Colt explains as we hit the freeway.
“The store?” I ask, shocked that he’s willing to make a detour.
I already know he’s as desperate as I am to continue what we started; I can see it tenting his pants.
“Yeah, just quickly. Need to grab a few things.”
“O-okay, sure.”
He navigates us to the store, thankfully not the same one Mom took me to when she dragged me out of the house that day. I might be able to walk around with my head held high these days, but I’m not sure I’m ready to return there quite yet.
“So what do you need?” I ask once he’s got a cart and we head into the fresh produce section.
“Just a couple of things,” he says cryptically before he begins loading vegetables into the cart.
“Mom has plenty of food. You don’t need to buy anything.”
“I’m going to cook dinner.”
My brows shoot up. “Y-you are?”
“Yep. I have a plan and everything,” he says proudly.
“Well, okay then.”
I gesture for him to continue and happily follow him around, cataloging everything he selects, trying to figure out what he’s planning.
By the time we get to the checkout, we’ve practically got a whole cart’s worth of food and other groceries, but I don’t question him. I’m happy to wait to discover what he’s cooking up.
With his ballcap pulled down low to cover his face, we manage to navigate the store without him being recognized, which is a huge relief after the chaos we caused at the airport.
We emerge from the store into the bright sunshine and a clear blue sky, the fall sun warming my skin. It’s perfect. Everything about today is perfect.
With the truck in our sights, we head across the parking lot side by side, but just before we get there, someone comes racing over.
“Colton Rogers?”
At first, I assume it’s a journalist wanting to ask questions, but then, he gets closer and recognition hits.
“Chad,” I breathe, my entire body locking up.
“Chad?” Colt whispers back. “Douche-canoe Chad?”
“The one and only.”