Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(11)

“C’mon now. You had yourself a nasty fall. Here y’are.” He took some of the bags of dog food off me, giving a portly forty-something-year-old woman with hair styled in a large, red beehive room to help me to my feet.

My stomach tightened up as I stood in the wake of a natural disaster. Fifty pound bags of dog food littered the ground in a messy heap. Next to the door lay an overturned shelving unit with a picture of a dog and a smiling woman, spewing more dog food over the ground. Leaning against the mess was a red bubble-gum machine, a breath away from crashing to the floor and breaking.

Hurricane Jessica.

“I’m so sorry! I’m really sorry!” I gushed. “I don’t know what my problem is!”

I braced myself for the rant. For the store owner to barge out, yelling about the mess. Threatening me with a counter-suit if I even dared thought of a lawyer. He chase me out of the store, my backside a welcome sight in the wake of the mess. I would then go to the next grocery store where I wouldn’t be branded a disturber of the peace. Until I did something else stupid.

Only problem was, I wasn’t in L.A., and I had no idea where another shop was. They weren’t on every corner in this neck of the woods.

Red-beehive-lady clutched my arm as I struggled out of the pile. Embarrassed laughter bubbled up as I beheld the mess. I scanned the ground for my handbag, disbelieving that one person, me, could make this much chaos. It was a gift.

“Honey, you took a tumble!” Beehive-Lady said, peering into my face. “Here, come over here and have a seat. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her face held nothing but concern. She gestured me around the store to a small bench seat, urging me to follow. In shock, wondering why she wasn't pissed, I took two steps, carried away by her concern. It took logic to still my feet.

Why the hell wasn’t she mad? I’d just rumbled through and blasted a stand of dog food! I’d interrupted a quiet evening at the shop with pandemonium. Why wasn’t she yelling?

The brown haired guy was picking up the dog food, but making quick, worried glances in my direction. He wore the same mask of alarm, concerned I would fall over at any minute.

I went back to looking for my handbag, waving away Beehive-Lady as best I could, saying, “No, no. Oh my God, really, I’m fine. I am just ridiculously clumsy and totally ridiculous! Sorry for the mess! Really!”

Where the hell was my damn purse? I had taken the tumble in the doorway, but it wasn’t there. That brown-haired fellow was more than halfway done stacking bags, uncovering nothing on the shiny white floor.

“You don’t worry yourself about no mess,” Beehive lady said, shuffling into sight again. She squinted into my face, probably anxious to see if I had a concussion. Apparently only a deranged moron wouldn’t rest for a second after ruining the whole front walkway of a store. “Ronnie will have that dealt with in a jiffy. C’mon’ere and have a seat. You sure yer not hurt? I haven’t seen a tumble like that off the football field in I don’t know how long!”

“Oh, ha! No,” I said distractedly, franticly searching for my bag and its contents. “I’m good, seriously. Just so sorry for the mess!”

I took a step around Beehive-Lady, scanning the sidewalk outside the store, ready to bolt, when the Greek God Apollo himself stepped through with my handbag in hand, a devastatingly handsome half-smile filled with mischief lighting up his face. Those eyes didn’t have to say hello to have me. Mr. McGuire wasn’t this good on his best day.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He tried for a concerned look after a quick glance at Ronnie and Beehive-Lady, but only managed a handsome farcical look instead. “I’m sorry to have startled you. I believe this is yours?” He reached out with my purse.

Must-pull-eyes-away.

God he was so beautiful.

NO-PULL-EYES-AWAY!

I managed to look down at my purse long enough to get my hand on it. It was bigger and fuller than I was used to, because I shoved a bunch of little bits in there when I was moving, and Apollo must’ve had muscles of steel to make the weight seem nonexistent, so when I thought I had hold of it, it plummeted toward the ground.

In his eagerness to help me, Mr. Apollo took a big step toward me, snatching the bag with lightning fast hands before it could spill onto the floor. I was acutely aware of his musty man smell. It wasn’t a clean, fresh out of the shower smell, but like a man that was working outside all day. Eau d’Homme. Not BO or anything, but pure Man. I liked Man. Especially gorgeous, sexy man...

My groin burst into flame. A million points of lava erupted across my skin; the heat of him so close, the smell of him, the man-ness of him. I was panting. I couldn’t help a tiny moan escaping my lips before he stepped away nonchalantly.

My God woman, get a grip! This was all going downhill so fast I had skid marks! I needed to get the hell out of there. Away from him.

But I didn’t want to.

But I had to! I looked like a mental patient. No hot guy would want to be ten feet from me.

But he was so hot!

But I smelled. No shower, remember? I was here to get a toothbrush. I probably peeled his eyebrows off when my breath hit his face.

Wait...did I talk to him?

I pushed my schizophrenia to the side and about-faced. Along with my body, my face was on fire...of a different kind. Of the “can one person really be this humiliated?” kind. I muttered a quick “thanks,” nodded to Beehive and Ronnie, and turned to go further into the store. Grudgingly, but necessarily.