frazzled and adorably irritated, and his plans changed because she appeared as though she needed the time away as much as he did.
Maybe more.
He’d overheard Nora giving her a hard time. Saw the look on Lexi’s face when she was trying to figure out what was wrong with her dress. And wanted to tell her she was perfect, that nothing was wrong. Hell, Lexi could be inspiring in a freaking potato sack. Then he’d touched her hair and, Christ, all he could think about was touching her more.
“That all?” Marilee asked, snapping Marc out of his daze.
Mrs. Craver was glaring at Lexi, who was too busy repacking what the bag boy had already packed up to answer. She carefully separated everything in two bags, so intent on her project she didn’t realize they were holding up the line.
“I think so,” Marc said, taking out his card and adding his items to the total.
He signed the receipt and grabbed the bags when Lexi looked up. “I have to pay.”
“Already did, cream puff.” And with a “good day” to Marilee, he ushered her out the door.
They were halfway to his truck, Lexi digging through her wallet and following him blindly, when Wingman spotted them.
“Wingman, stay,” he commanded, and like any good dog, Wingman leaped out the window with a bark and ran—right up to Lexi.
Squatting down, she hugged the lucky mutt and didn’t even complain when he licked her face.
“You shouldn’t run around like that. You could get hit,” she cooed, and Wingman, being a male confronted with a soft, curvy female, dropped to his stomach and rolled over, letting her give him a nice belly rub.
When the dog was all but moaning, with his eyes rolled back into his head, Lexi stood and extended her arms. For a split second Marc though she was offering him a belly rub.
“My bag. I’ve got to get going.”
Bag. Right. “I’ve got it.”
“Yes, well, you’re going there”—she looked pointedly at his truck and then to the bakery across the street—“and I’m going there.”
“Great. Then it shouldn’t take too long. Let’s go.” After locking Wingman back in the cab of the truck, he walked across the parking lot, biting back a smile when she came clacking up behind him.
“I can carry my own stuff.”
“Never said you couldn’t.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “At least tell me how much I owe you.”
Marc reached the curb and stopped. “I have a better idea.” It was a stupid idea. One of the worst ideas he’d ever had. “My buddy’s wife just went into labor, and I said I would pick up his wines for the Showdown. Buy me a tank of gas, come with Wingman and me for a ride, and we’ll call it even.”
She didn’t ask where he was going or when he’d be back, just stared at the bakery, which housed three silvered grannies staring back, and said, “Okay.”
“Really?” And just like that he went to half-mast. The image of her riding next to him on his truck bench, straddling the gearshift—
Ah man, he was toast. That mountain would force him to change gears at least twenty times each way. Which meant he’d be brushing up against her thigh at least twenty times each way. And man law or not—that was way too tempting.
Before he could rescind his invitation, she nodded and looked up at him with those big, mossy eyes and he was lost.
What the hell had just happened?
He was supposed to offer, and she was supposed to refuse. It was how they worked. How they had always worked.
“I mean, if you can wait,” she began. “I’m making lunch for our grandmas and Lucinda as a thank-you for, well, everything. And they’re waiting on me.”
So that’s what they had told her.
“It will be about an hour. Is that okay?” she asked, resting a hand on his arm.
“I can wait.” Hell, if she kept touching him like that, he’d wait all afternoon. Not that he’d be waiting that long. He’d give her two minutes tops, and then they’d be on the road.
They crossed Main Street, and when they reached the other side, she took the smaller bag from him. “This is for you. It’s healthier than the beef jerky. Plus, the fig jam on that gouda is incredible. Oh, and—” She dug through the bag, coming up with the bone. She unwrapped it. “This is for Wingman.”
“Marc?” A sugary voice came down the street and right into the moment.
He watched as his newish assistant, who was stacked, blonde, and looked