Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(14)

“How many are we getting?” I ask Luke, who is strutting through the grocery store like a tiny king.

Cowboy heir to the deer antler throne. Or something equally rustic.

“Ten,” he replies decisively.

“Ten? That’s a lot.”

“It’s just the right amount.”

I stare at the section of iceberg lettuce before us. If we take ten, we’re clearing out more than half of what’s here. “Five.”

His head shoots in my direction so quickly, little brows furrowing. He instantly looks like his dad.

“Seven.”

I press my lips together so hard it almost hurts. This kid is too smart. “Five, final offer.”

A little spot on his jaw pops, and I am dying. He is a miniature Cade. Take away eye color and the resemblance is uncanny. Hilarious. “Fine.”

“You’re going to be bored after three,” I supply, while reaching for the first head of lettuce.

“I am not!”

I turn and quirk a brow at him. “Luke. I may be new here, but I’m going to tell you what I told your dad. Mind your tone. You and I aren’t going to talk to each other like that. Or I’ll put you back to bed for a nap.”

His baby blues widen. “Naps are for babies.”

“Agreed. But if you act like one, I might get confused.”

He sighs heavily and offers me a brief nod before reaching for another head. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing. That was very not-baby-like.”

A smile touches his lips and I mirror the expression. I feel like the two of us just came to some sort of understanding.

When we turn to leave, I’m met with a far less friendly glare.

“Who are you?” a woman asks, hand propped on her hip with a grocery basket in the opposite hand. The way she draws out you reminds me of the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland puffing out smoke O’s. But all she’s blowing at me is bad breath.

Not a fan of the way she’s glaring at me either. Up and down with a little sneer on her face, like I’m yesterday’s roadkill.

Regardless, I smile sweetly—a little too sweetly—and say, “I’m Willa.”

The woman sniffs, the tip of her nose wiggling. I’m having a hard time placing how old she might be. The mini skirt and rhinestone sneakers make me think young, but the heavy makeup flaking in the creases on her forehead makes me think older. It’s a fascinating dichotomy.

“What are you doing out with Cade’s boy?” She bends down a bit to address Luke. “You okay, honey? Do you need my help?”

An earnest and confused look is what Luke gives her back, followed by, “Yeah?”

He rears back a little, and I think it might have to do with her breath. To be fair, I’d like to get as far away as possible too.

“You sure, baby? Is this woman taking you somewhere you don’t want to go?”

I roll my eyes. “If I were kidnapping a child, I wouldn’t stop at a grocery store to buy five heads of lettuce first. I’m his nanny.”

Her eyes narrow, but she turns them back on me. “I applied for that job.” She sniffs again as she straightens.

“Yeah, and my daddy said he’d rather roll around in the manure pile than hire you.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head right as my hand slaps over my mouth to contain my amusement. This is a moment where I need to behave more grown-up than I’m feeling inside.

The woman blinks rapidly, heat rising on her neck. I honestly feel bad for her. I mean, we can’t be offended by the things a five-year-old says . . . but we can be offended by the things men who are pushing forty say.

“I’m so sorry.” I scoop Luke’s hand into my own and give her an apologetic look. “I, uh, I hope you have a lovely day.” Smiling brightly, I drag Luke toward the till, feeling so grateful that I’m off to a good start in this small town.

Dropping my panties and insulting the locals. And it’s only day two.

I keep that smile plastered on my face throughout the checkout. It feels like people are giving us weird looks. I swear I can feel their eyes on me. Their judgment. Maybe it’s in my head. Maybe it’s not real at all.

All I know is that I can’t get out of there fast enough. I’m not used to living somewhere that everyone recognizes you. I’m sure it’s why my parents travel so much. To get away from the people who stop them and ask for autographs all the time. To just be.

“Okay, get in, little man.” I open the back door of my jeep and toss the bags of lettuce in the front.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, climbing into his seat.

I sigh, watching his little hands pull the strap down over his shoulder and then struggle with the buckle. I reach across him and lend a hand, pulling away when I hear the telltale click. “Yes and no.

Sometimes there are things we don’t say out loud.”

No point in beating around the bush.

I round the vehicle and hear his confused, “What do you mean?” through the open top.

“What I mean,” I start, getting into the vehicle and buckling myself in, “is that there are things we think in our heads or say to other people who we know and trust that we don’t share publicly. So like when you run into people like we just did, we might think about it, but don’t say it. It’s a bubble thought.”