by Miles, Cindy
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Why do you care if I’m just sitting over here staring at the walls?”
Another heavy sigh. “Do you have a fork? Ice pick? Can opener? I’d like to poke my eyes out now, please. Out of epic frustration.”
Reagan’s lip twitched. Just a fraction. “That’s a really nice thing to say to a blind person. And, you say the word epic a lot.”
“Ha! I saw that!” Eric said excitedly. “And epic is a grand word indeed. And, I’m not joking about your blindness. I’m simply expressing my extreme annoyance with you. Now quit your stalling, girl, and come on. I mean it, Reagan.”
With a sigh of defeat, she pushed open the screen door. “Come on in. I’ll just be a sec.”
“Holy God, wait. Do you hear that?” Eric said, his steps falling across the wood planks as he eased inside.
She stopped and strained her ears. She heard absolutely nothing. “What?”
“It’s the sound of ice cracking.” He chuckled. “From around your heart.”
She shook her head and made her way down the hall. “So glad to know you turned out to be such an Irish American comedian.”
“I’m a natural, too. Don’t you think?” he called after her, in a heavy Irish accent.
“Whatever, Lucky Charms.” Reagan just shook her head, stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Eric’s whistling and footfalls as he moved around the living room echoed through the wood, and she shook her head yet again. What was it with him? It irritated her that he could coax—and so easily, so it seemed—a smile from her. Like, irritated the absolute hell out of her. Why?
Truth be told, she’d wanted to try to pull her weight a little more and thought she’d make an attempt at dinner for her and Em. Perhaps going to the grocery store wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Basic ingredients for say, spaghetti, couldn’t be that hard. Could they? Running a brush through her hair, she tied it into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and made her way into her room where she quickly pulled a pair of shorts and a tank from her dresser, felt for her Converse sneakers, and slipped her bag over her shoulder.
She could do this. This...grocery shopping with Eric Malone.
Practically family. Right? He didn’t really feel very familial.
With a deep breath she made her way back to the living room.
“Your shirt’s inside out.”
Reagan froze.
“And...you have on two different-colored sneakers.”
For a split second, embarrassment burned the skin at her throat in a hot flush. But only for a split second. She narrowed her gaze. “Liar. As if I’d trust you, the practical joker.”
“No, Reagan, really—”
“Just come on before I change my mind,” Reagan interrupted. Was he always the perpetual clown?
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he complied, chuckling.
The air shifted as Eric moved ahead of her, and she noticed he smelled...good. Clean, like some kind of zesty, piney guy soap. The screen door creaked, and she knew he was holding it open for her. “Thanks,” she muttered, and eased through and onto the porch. Immediately, she lifted her hand, feeling the air to find the pillar. Tapping her stick to make sure she didn’t trip.
But a warm pressure settled against her lower back as Eric placed his hand there, guiding her. “Almost to the end,” he said.
“I know,” she answered, and felt the post with her palm. Shame coursed through her. Why in the hell did he feel the need to baby her? If she fell, she fell. So what? Falling would be better than feeling incapable.
Finally, she felt the ground beneath her feet, and she strained her eyes to try to pick out the shadowy form of a vehicle. Before she could, though, Eric applied pressure to her lower back once more and guided her. A door creaked open.
“Up you go,” he said cheerfully, and Reagan felt for the seat, then placed her foot inside and rose up. “I borrowed Jep’s old truck. Watch your feet,” he warned, and the door creaked and slammed shut.
Reagan felt for the seat belt but couldn’t find it. In the next second, the heat from Eric’s body leaning over her made her suck in a breath.
“Here, I’ll get that,” he said, and he was close, and his hands brushed her shoulder, then the belt snugged against her. A metal click sounded, and his warmth left.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” she answered.
With a laugh, Eric turned over the engine, revved the motor, and the truck began to move. The wind blew in from the open window, tossing Reagan’s ponytail. The air felt heavy, as though rain loomed overhead. The pungent brine wafted in, and she wiggled her nose.
“It’s definitely an acquired smell,” Eric commented. “So. Reagan Rose Quinn,” he started. “It’s a gorgeous day.”
Reagan kept her face turned toward the open window. Shadows flashed by, abstract, undeterminable. “So you’ve said. Although it smells like rain.”
“Right.” He chuckled. “Rain’s great, too, don’t you think? Liquid sunshine. What I mean to say is, what do you see?”
Had Eric Malone lost his mind? “Have you been eating sketchy mushrooms, Malone? I see shadows. Dark blurry forms. Nothing else. We went over this already, remember?”
Again, he chuckled. “Really? That’s it? You’re just doomed to a life of haze and darkness?”
Exasperated, Reagan blew out a sigh. “What’s your problem?”
“I, my beautiful but testy neighbor, have zero problems at the moment. Except your mule head. Now, think. Use your other senses and tell me what you see.”
Reagan rolled her eyes. “Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
She shook her head and faced the window. “Don’t...try to be my Mr. Miyagi. My therapist.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Well, how many blind people have you befriended, huh? How many?”
“You’re my first,” he answered cheerfully. “And you’re totally avoiding this exercise.”
She gave a short, acerbic laugh. “Of course I am! It’s ridiculous!”
“Come on, Reagan,” he crooned. “Humor me. Stick your hand out the window. Take a deep breath in. What do you see?”
It angered her—his constant battering of trying to help her see. But what was she to do? Leap from the truck? She’d committed to the grocery store outing, and now she was good and freaking stuck. Better to humor him, so he’d possibly drop the whole damn thing. Silently, she stuck her hand out the window.
“It’s windy,” she said.
“Tsk, tsk, I call no being a smart-ass,” he joked. “Of course it’s windy. I’m driving fifty-five miles an hour. Now feel it again. And take a big whiff.”
Reagan let her hand drift outside the open window and thought about it. Felt the moisture cling to her skin. Slowly, she inhaled, exhaled. She rubbed her fingers together. “A storm. The air feels heavy, and it has a salty, earthy scent.”
“You got it,” he agreed. “Big black clouds are swirling overhead.”
“I thought you said it was a gorgeous day?” Reagan asked.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?” He added, “I love storms.”
Reagan thought back—way back, to before she and Em left Cassabaw. “You always did,” she answered quietly.
“You remember.” Eric laughed softly. “Sitting on the end of the dock, watching those storms roll across the river,” he mused. “Then, when the rain started to sting our skin, or lightning flashed, we’d run for the dock house and stay crammed under the quilt table until the storm passed.”
A smile tugged at Reagan’s mouth. “I don’t remember much, but yeah, I do recall that.”
“Good times,” Eric said. “Childhood is the best. Okay, what kind of music do you like?
”
At least he was a decent conversationalist. No uncomfortable silent lull looming over their heads. “I...don’t know. Any kind.”
“God, Reagan.” He groaned. “You’re killin’ me. Come on. There has to be something you love. How about the crazy tunes your sister digs?”
Reagan laughed lightly. “To a certain extent, yeah. But definitely not to Em’s capacity.” She thought. “Classic rock, I guess.”
“Now you’re talkin’,” he said, and after a moment, the Eagles’ “Hotel California” began that mournful opening. “Remember how we loved this one?”
Reagan nodded. “Still do.”
The music continued and the Eagles began to sing the lyrics. Joined by Eric. And he sang loudly.
“Don’t ya remember the words?” he finally asked.
“Of course,” she answered.
She shook her head and wondered about Eric Malone’s motives.
Soon, the truck bumped and jerked to a halt, and the engine went silent. “We’re here,” Eric announced. In the next second her door was being opened. A slight breeze brushed her skin, sultry, salty. Eric’s hand closed around her elbow, and she stepped out of the truck.
“Okay, okay, one thing, Malone,” Reagan said. Eric was close—she could see his dark form a few inches away. Taller than her for certain. And broad. She could smell his soapy skin. Feel his body heat. “Don’t treat me like a blind person. Okay? It’s embarrassing.”
“Define ‘like a blind person,’” he answered. His voice washed over her, quiet now and raspy. “Just so I’ll be clear on the matter.”
Reagan sighed. “Like, let me do things,” she said. “Yes, if I’m about to step out into a line of traffic, pull me back. But I don’t want people staring at me like I’m helpless. I’m not.”
He was quiet for a moment, and Reagan nearly squirmed under what she assumed was his scrutiny. “Did you know you have the most adorable nose I’ve ever seen?” he said softly. “In my life.”
Reagan felt her cheeks burn. “You’re trying to distract me from my point.”
He tugged her elbow, and she shifted away from the truck door. He closed it, and the vibration of metal shimmied next to her. “Don’t worry, Reagan Rose,” he said close. “I know you’re more than capable. No treating you like a blind person. Copy that. Now stop stalling and let’s hit the aisles. I’m starved.”
Why Eric’s close proximity and blunt words affected her so much, she hadn’t a clue. Whether he was ticking her off or making her cheeks turn hot, he affected her.
She could only pray he didn’t notice.
CHAPTER FIVE
“UM, MA’AM? EXCUSE ME,” a woman’s voice said, close to Reagan. She had a nasal voice and heavy Southern-belle accent, and pungent perfume wafted off her in a heavy cloud that nearly took Eric’s breath away. He watched her lean closer to Reagan, a smile caked with lipstick spreading across her face.
Reagan turned her head slightly. “Sorry, yes?”
“Your blouse is on inside out, honey,” the woman said. “And you have on one white sneaker and one blue one.” She gave a squeaky laugh. “Didn’t know if you knew it or were starting a new trend!”
“New trend,” Reagan muttered. “Thanks anyway.”
“No prob!” The woman turned and grinned at Eric, her eyes moving over him in blatant flirtation. Early thirties maybe, and sporting a large rock on her wedding finger; he simply nodded. She waved and sauntered off to the next aisle.
Reagan simply stood there, looking mad. With her head tilted back, just a little, her chin jutting upward, she sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
Eric wiped his smile with his hand. “Incredibly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she spat.
Eric couldn’t help but laugh, but he covered it up by clearing his throat. “Reagan, I swear I tried.”
Reagan shook her head. “You weren’t very convincing! Can we just hurry, please?” Her voice was an aggravated whisper.
Eric leaned close to her ear and noticed how nice she smelled. Fresh, like some kind of wildflower. “You are insanely cute. No one cares, Reagan. Relax.”
“That woman noticed,” she answered.
Eric glanced around, but the woman was long gone. “That’s because she’s one of those busybodies. Into everyone’s biz. So don’t worry about it.”
Reagan lifted her head high, then slid her shades off her face and tucked them into her bag. “I feel totally stupid.”
Reaching for a shopping cart, Eric pushed it beside her and placed her hand on the bar. He closed her fingers over it. “You only feel as stupid as you allow people to make you feel, darlin’. Now, come on. Push.”
She began to walk, slowly. “You want me to push?”
“Sure, why not? Let’s hit the produce first.” He leaned toward her again. “I’m right next to you, so don’t worry. I won’t let you take out a pyramid display of canned yams or anything.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Eric studied her as he pulled Jep’s grocery list from his back pocket. “My pleasure.” She had on white shorts that showed toned, tan legs, a worn white Converse and a worn navy Converse—which totally cracked him up. Her navy tank was indeed inside out, with the little silky tag on the side seam hanging loose. Her arms were firm with perfectly shaped female biceps—not too big, but definitely defined. Her tanned skin was nearly flawless, save the occasional rogue freckle here and there, as well as the few that trekked across her nose. A finely structured face with a pair of incredibly juicy lips—
“Why aren’t we moving?”
Eric blinked, pulling himself from his engrossed inspection. “Sorry,” he admitted. “I got all caught up in checking you out.”
He watched her cheeks turn pink, despite the fact that her brows pulled together into a frown. “Are you always so arrogantly forward with strangers?”
Eric grinned and glanced around, noticing an older woman with snowy white hair piled high on her head, sorting through the bananas. The woman’s half smile and brow wiggle almost made him burst out laughing. He shrugged and waved, then bent his head close to Reagan’s.
“We used to swim shirtless together in the river,” he said softly, next to her ear. “In nothing but a pair of cutoff jeans. We’re far, far from strangers, Reagan Rose.” He lowered his voice even more. “We were practically naked together—”
Her elbow landed squarely in his ribs. “Ow,” he grunted.
“Will you cut it out?” she spat. “You’re ridiculous. That was a hundred years ago, and most of it I don’t even remember.”
Eric passed another glance at the old woman by the bananas, who steadily watched the exchange between him and Reagan. Her grin was wider now, and he only returned the smile and shrugged, holding his hands up in defeat. The old woman shook her head, amused, and ambled to the bin of oranges.
“Okay, okay, I give,” Eric said. He stepped back a bit before Reagan punched him in the face. “Tell me what you want and I’ll guide us there.”
She gave a frustrated sigh. “Oranges. Grapes. Bananas. Onions. Avocados. Romaine. Tomatoes. Green pepper. Mushrooms. Garlic.”
Eric watched her eyes as she spoke, noticing the brilliant blue with flecks of green and the dark blond lashes that fanned out like caterpillars against her upper cheekbones. Finely arched brows had eased from their perpetual frown, adjusting into the sexiest expression he’d ever seen. In. His. Life. He shook his head. “Your wish is my command,” he said, guiding them toward her choices. “I love the way the produce section smells,” he said, drawing in a large breath. “Don’t you?”
“I guess,” she said, feeling the avocados with her slight fingers.
“Well, take a whiff,” he challenged. “Like, a big one. And really notice the different scents.” When she ignored him, h
e pressed. “Reagan, do it.”
She went rigid, back stiff, and wouldn’t budge. Didn’t inhale.
He felt determination creep up his throat, and Eric reached for a big fat orange and held it under her nose. Pushed it against her nose. “Seriously, Rea. Sniff it.”
She gave a slight inhale then grabbed the orange from him. “Great. It smells like an orange, Eric. Can we go please?”
He could hear it in her voice—the loss of patience, the frustration at his urging. Part of it made him want to press, force her to realize that losing her sight wasn’t the end of the world. The other wondered how far he could push without getting his eyes blacked out.
In the end, he conceded. “Okay, Miss Attitude. How many do you want?”
“Three. If you just give me the bag I can pick them out.”
He obliged, handing her one of the little plastic bags on a roller close to the bin. Reagan felt around the oranges, squeezing lightly until she had chosen her three. Silently, she stood. Waiting. He could tell she was warring with herself.
“Okay, what next?” he asked, throwing in a bag of seedless red grapes. He plucked a few out and started popping them into his mouth. “Want a grape?”
“No, I don’t want a grape. They’re not washed. The pasta and spaghetti sauce aisle, please. And I need ground Italian sausage.”
“Good choice, one of my faves,” he answered. Pretending not to notice her grumpiness. Eric guided them down aisle after aisle, and they’d stopped at the tomato sauce to ponder the selections when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. When he looked, it was Jep.
He answered it. “Franco’s Pizza. Pick up or delivery?”
“Pizza my ass, you crazy boy.”
Eric glanced at Reagan, since Jep’s loud voice could be heard quite plainly without the speaker being on. A very subtle grin lifted the corners of those plump lips, and it made him smile, too. “What’d you forget, Jep my good man?”
“Buttermilk. I need some buttermilk. You talk that Quinn girl into going with you?”
Eric laughed. “Of course,” he replied, watching Reagan’s face. “She can’t keep her hands off me, Jep. It’s the craziest thing—umph!”