at an art gallery in San Francisco. Max was the reason I was there. He and Harlow were there because she was supporting a friend of hers from Alaska who sold whimsical painted furniture. Looking back now, I could see Brett probably saw me as his avenue to Max from that very night because I’d been standing with Max and Harlow when we first met.
My mind was nudged off of Brett when an older man with weathered skin cast me a broad smile as I walked by. I reminded myself I didn’t need to dwell on Brett. I could be angry, but I was in New Orleans, and I intended to enjoy it.
Another block later, I saw the sign for the grocery store up ahead. It wasn’t a large box type store, but a smaller neighborhood store. “Food and sundries” was all the sign said in curly blue script.
As soon as I stepped through the doors, the air was strikingly cool against my skin. There was hot, and then there was what New Orleans was. At its peak earlier when I was leaving the airport, the sun felt merciless, almost as if it was trying to melt me on the spot. Even now though, hours later, as the sun slid slowly down the sky, I couldn’t imagine life here without air-conditioning.
I snagged a basket by the door and paused to survey the store and get a lay of the land. Grocery stores were a funny thing. They all had their own sense of organization. This one was filled with colorful produce in the front and cute little signs marking staff favorites as I meandered the aisles.
“Mari, hey there.”
The moment I heard my name in Nash’s voice, a prickle of awareness ran down my spine. I didn’t know what it was about the way he said my name, but it felt special. Maybe it was the way the vowels rolled slowly off his tongue? Whatever it was, I reacted physically every time he spoke.
Turning in the direction of his voice, I found Nash approaching me. The man never seemed to be in a hurry, and now was no exception. He strolled toward me with his smooth gait. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of this grocery store, Nash managed to look kissed by the sun. His sandy hair glinted with gold didn’t dull. His hazel eyes stood out, crinkling at the corners with his smile when he stopped in front of me.
“Hi, Nash.” My voice came out breathy, and I felt foolish.
I wanted to think after my pride smashing experience with Brett that I would be immune to the charms of men, at least for a little while. But Nash was heavy on charm—even when he didn't seem to be trying —and nature had been exceedingly generous with him in the looks department.
“Grocery shopping?” he queried as he glanced down into my basket.
“What else would I be doing in a grocery store?” I teased in return, feeling my cheeks heat slightly.
“Excellent question,” he drawled as he lifted his eyes to mine again. “I was thinking about texting you to see if you wanted to start your tour tonight.”
“How come you didn’t?” I countered, feeling a grin tug at the corners of my mouth.
Oh my God. I was actually flirting with him.
Nash’s lips kicked up at one corner, and he cocked his head to the side. “I wanted to give you the night to settle in.”
“Good point.”
He looked back into my grocery basket and shook his head slowly. “Darling, all you have in there are bananas, hummus, and crackers.”
“What’s wrong with bananas, hummus, and crackers?”
“Not a thing, but it’s certainly not a meal. Those are all snacks. That does it. You’ve lost your privilege of a night to settle in. We’re going out to dinner,” he said firmly.
I laughed, feeling my blush deepen. Against all of my better judgment, I really wanted to go out to dinner with Nash.
“Let me get a few more things, and then you can take me to dinner. Where are you taking me?” I turned and began walking as Nash followed along leisurely. Without a word, he reached over and divested me of my grocery basket.
“I can carry that, you know?”
“Of course, I know that. But, I was raised with manners. I can actually feel my mother’s disapproval even though she’s not here.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
The only reason I didn’t push the point was I didn’t have any sense at all that Nash looked at women as wilting flowers