His second chance, p.2
His Second Chance, page 2
Grant Sumner stepped out of his rented SUV and donned his favorite Colorado Rockies hat. As he slid his sunglasses on, he scanned the outside of TJ’s Grocery Store. Not much had changed about the exterior since he’d worked there as a kid, bagging groceries.
TJ Thompson had been generous offering a punk kid like Grant a job when he was just fourteen. The man had caught Grant stealing from the snack food aisle and had forced him to work off the debt. Apparently, Grant had turned out to be a valuable volunteer because a month later Grant received a paycheck and the rest had been history.
The familiar smells of the grocery store hit him as soon as he walked past the sliding glass doors, flooding his mind with images from his youth. He remembered stocking fresh fruit in the produce aisle, rolling out bread and shoving it in the oven while working in the bakery, and stacking canned goods on each shelf until they were perfect. It was incredible how the human brain could store so many memories, all wrapped up in the aromas that shaped your life.
Grant thought of Sophie’s perfume. His wife had never been one to spend tons of money on girly stuff, but perfume was her one indulgence. Since they’d split up, the kick in the midsection when he smelled that perfume always caught him off guard. Thankfully, it didn’t happen often.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” a familiar voice called over the half-wall of the manager’s booth to the left. “If it ain’t the world’s sexiest man alive.”
The heavy sarcasm in the voice was the only thing that made it not creepy as hell, given that the comment came from TJ. TJ talking about Grant as sexy was wrong on so many levels.
Grant snorted. He still saw himself as the regular small-town boy he’d always been, not a world-famous actor. And certainly not a sex symbol.
“Hey, Mr. Thompson. How’s it going?” Grant walked toward the large man. His graying hair was thinner and Grant could tell he was parting his hair closer to his ear to hide his balding head. The fact TJ was trying to preserve some semblance of vanity made him smile.
“Fancy seeing you here in town.”
“The festival starts tomorrow,” Grant said. “And thanks for your support, by the way.”
Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had provided the totes for the goodie bags and the flower displays, since Mary Anne Thompson owned the local flower shop.
“Yeah, I just thought you’d send your fancy assistant in here to do your shopping.”
“And miss a chance to see you? Never.”
Mr. Thompson shot him a grin. “I see you are quite the actor, aren’t you son?”
Grant went to shake Mr. Thompson’s hand but in an unusual display of affection, the old man brought him in for a tight hug.
“Thank you for what you’re doing for the town, Grant. We all appreciate you bringing your festival to Canyon Creek. It’s quite a boost to our economy, I tell you that.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and it was. Not only that, he thought his small town might offer just the right setting to try and win back his wife.
Mr. Thompson led them around the cash registers and into the store. “So, what are you here for?”
“Flowers,” he said.
Mr. Thompson cocked a brow. “Flowers, huh? For your momma?”
Grant laughed. “Uh, yes, for my mom.” He didn’t need any more people knowing about his plan to win back his wife. This film festival had started out as a way to help the town but for him, it had turned into so much more.
“Couldn’t possibly be for that pretty little wife of yours who, rumor has it, is on her way here?”
God, Grant had completely underestimated the gossip mill of Canyon Creek. He was pretty sure his Aunt Sally was the president and chief operating officer.
Mr. Thompson hit Grant hard on the back. “I’m just yanking your chain, son. Flowers are still in the back left side of the store. Mrs. Thompson has expanded the selection quite a bit, in fact.”
Grant knew that. He’d called ahead to ask Mrs. Thompson to order peonies for him since Sophie loved them so much. Mrs. Thompson had spent twenty minutes telling him all about the larger selection of flowers and the fact she now had peonies in stock almost all year.
“Yes, sir, I've got it. Thanks.”
“Well, I’ll be up at the booth when you’re done. Stop by and say good-bye before you leave.”
“Will do.” Grant smiled at the older man, thankful that he’d offered Grant support instead of retribution all those years ago.
Grant made his way to the flowers.
He searched the display looking for peonies. Sophie loved them for their simple elegance, she’d told him. It had surprised him because the same could be said for Sophie.
She was elegant and beautiful in a way that made her more attractive to him than any of the made-up women that he was used to meeting in Hollywood.
In the three years they’d been married he’d always admired that about her. She could afford anything her heart desired and what she’d wanted had been simple, really. Only he’d been unable to give her the one thing she wanted most, despite everything he had. He’d learned the hard way that money and power couldn’t provide everything.
Shaking off his mood, he searched the large display. He grabbed a large bouquet of pale pink peonies with baby’s breath mixed throughout the larger blooms. He’d learned all the terms for the different flowers when he worked at the store, and he knew without a doubt, Sophie would love the bouquet.
But would she love him again? Could she, after all they’d been through?
He had Sophie’s sister Jackie helping him this weekend, but he didn’t know if that would be enough to win his wife back. He just needed a shot at it, though, a chance to prove he’d changed. If he could show her he wasn’t the selfish asshole he once was, maybe she could love him again.
Grant headed back through the aisles, cutting through the pharmacy section toward the front registers. Without warning, he heard Sophie’s voice—in the store. His gut clenched as he glanced down at his watch. He thought he had at least another hour before they rolled up into town.
He headed toward the sound of her voice, moving into the pharmacy section as he went.
He could hear her muttering under her breath the way she always did when she was upset, or working on a new song. He hoped it was the latter but figured it probably wasn’t, given the way he’d basically strong-armed her sister into bringing her to the festival.
He stepped back behind a display to avoid her. He didn’t want their first meeting to be in the pharmacy section at TJ’s. But he wanted to catch a glimpse, needed to see her again, so he leaned around the shelf.
As always, his breath caught and his heart tripped in his chest at the sight of her. She was more beautiful than ever. Maybe she looked that way because they’d been apart for so long, but he didn’t think so. Sophie always had a pull over him that he’d never been able to overcome. Not that he wanted to.
She was dressed in her usual disguise when she went in public—oversized sun hat and sunglasses almost as large as her head. She wore a baggy sweatshirt that hung almost to her knees.
His sweatshirt. Hope nailed him in his chest.
Oh shit, she was walking toward him, still muttering.
He turned to duck down the other aisle but tripped over the edge of the shelving unit he’d been hiding behind. He instinctively reached out to balance himself, pushing at the display of boxes. Before he could right himself he watched in horror as the entire display fell over and boxes of tampons scattered across the floor.
“Oh, fuck,” he said under his breath.
“Oh, shiitake mushrooms.” Sophie spoke at the same time.
Grant dropped to the floor and tried to scoop up the boxes before anyone saw. He gave up the fight when he realized there were packages of tampons of all sizes and colors strewn across the floor, some an aisle away. Why did they make these things in neon colors?
“You always did have a unique way of entering a room, Mr. Sumner.”
Grant glanced up, happy to hear a lightness in Sophie’s tone that hadn’t been there the last time they’d talked. She removed her sunglasses, looking down at him.
Her hair was shorter now, just past her shoulders, but still the golden blonde it always had been. Small freckles dotted her nose and cheeks like he remembered. Once he’d told her he wanted to kiss each and every freckle on her body. And he had. His body hummed with need and his jeans felt tighter at the memory.
His heart tightened in his chest at the thought that he couldn’t reach out and pull her to him. That she was off limits to him now. It gutted him knowing he’d done that to them. He’d killed what they had together.
Sophie knelt in front of him and lifted a box of tampons, studying them closely. “Not my brand,” she chuckled. Her blue eyes met his and for a moment he saw sadness pooling in the aqua depths. Before he could study her, she donned her sunglasses, effectively shutting him out.
Dammit. He’d always been able to read Sophie, know her innermost thoughts when he could see her crystal blue eyes. Right now her actions were speaking louder than words ever could, something she was good at.
“Hey, Sophie,” he said, in an uncharacteristically quiet tone.
“Hey, Grant.” Her tone was flat and her face remained expressionless.
He hated that her smile was gone. It was one of the things he loved most about her, and the only thing he could truly give her since she made as much money, if not more, than him.
But not anymore. His ability to make his wife smile had vanished along with their hopes for a happily ever after to their story.
With the help of his family, the town—even Sophie’s own sister—maybe he could change that. And he’d start right now, standing in an aisle that he’d just littered with tampon boxes.
Chapter Three
Sophie’s head spun and her stomach tightened. Grant Sumner, her husband—or estranged husband—was squatting in front her, looking no worse for the wear.
He smiled that half grin that always turned her legs to jelly and made special parts of her tingle, as it did for most women in the world. The man hadn’t been voted sexiest man in the world for nothing.
His chiseled jaw was covered with the perfect amount of stubble to look sexy but not like a mountain man. His full lips spread wider and her pulse jumped as his beautiful teeth sparkled. Goodness sakes, the man could do a toothpaste commercial, had probably been offered one.
But it was his eyes that kept her captivated. They were a swirling mix of honey brown and emerald green that always stopped her in her tracks. Grant saw more of her with those gorgeous eyes than anyone else ever had.
Hoping to hide her surprise, and her desire, she slid her shades back on. She hadn’t expected to see him now. Especially shopping for tampons. She felt her face flush. Gosh, this was beyond humiliating.
“Clean up on aisle four,” someone yelled through the loud speaker.
“Oh, Christ,” Grant said, reaching out to grab as many boxes as he could. He worked to balance them in his large hands, seeming to ignore what the boxes held.
Sophie bit her lip to keep from laughing but quickly lost the battle. She snorted, covering her mouth with both hands.
He stared down at her, raising his brows. “This was your fault,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” She reached out to grab the boxes of tampons, too, moving toward him. “I wasn’t anywhere near this display when they fell.”
Grant stacked his boxes back on the toppled display, the actions swift and sure from years of making displays as a teen, and then grabbed Sophie’s stack. “I was trying to hide from you.”
“Me?” She chuckled. Her gaze fell to the hand at his side, clutching a cellophane package of flowers. Peonies. Her favorite.
Her breath caught in her chest.
No. She shook her head. She would not be affected by this man. She was here to sing at his festival’s concert and that was it. She cleared her throat. “Why were you hiding from me?”
He stood speechless, clutching the flowers.
“Wait,” she said, her gaze going from the peonies to his hazel eyes. “Were you expecting to see me?”
He shrugged, his mischievous grin returning.
Do not fall for his charm. Do not fall for his charm.
Her heart wasn’t listening to the warning as it beat wildly in her chest.
“Who said these were for you?” he asked.
She felt her skin burn with embarrassment first, then anger. Was he buying another woman flowers? And why did she care? “I, umm, I guess you’re right. It was wrong of me to assume. Maybe they’re for…” She didn’t want to say the words. Even though she hadn’t seen or talked to Grant in almost a year, her heart refused to believe he’d been with someone else. She wanted to think he wouldn’t do that to her.
He chuckled, in that low husky way that always set her skin on fire. How in the heck could he affect her so easily after all this time apart?
“Of course they’re for you, Soph.” He glanced down at the flowers then lifted them toward her. “I’ve never bought flowers for anyone but you.”
She cocked her head. That couldn’t be true.
“Unless a corsage for Darlene Wabowski counts.”
Her brows furrowed as she studied him.
“She was my date to senior prom. Apparently it’s her one claim to fame. She posts pictures of me in my cheesy tux all the time, telling everyone on social media I was madly in love with her.”
“Were you?”
Grant stepped closer.
Sophie moved to step back but ran into a shelf and quickly jumped forward to avoid another tampon tumble.
Grant grabbed her upper arm to steady her, his hand firm. His eyes nearly sparkled with the look he gave adoring fans in public. Normally she loved that look but today it felt like he was hiding, showing her his show-biz persona.
“It doesn’t matter.” She stepped around him, studying the various boxes of tampons.
He walked up behind her. “Remember that time in Reno? When you needed tampons and were hurting too bad to leave the tour bus?”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to remember how sweet and kind Grant had been back then. And trying to forget the fact that there would never be a time she wouldn’t need them. Not until she went through menopause, at least.
His hand reached around her and he grabbed a box of tampons. The exact ones she used. He brought the package down and held it out in front of her. It felt intimate, like he was about to wrap his arms around her.
He leaned in close, his breath brushing against her ear as he spoke. “I’ve only been in love with one girl my entire life. And it wasn’t Darlene Wabowski.”
How was it possible he was turning her into a heaping puddle of goo in the middle of the tampon section of the grocery store? She shivered and chastised herself for being so affected by this man. Her husband, she reminded herself. Her estranged husband. And if he knew the truth, soon to be her ex.
She stepped from his hold, breaking the spell he cast on her. Grabbing the box from his hand, she turned to leave.
“Of course it’s Grant Sumner causing all these problems,” an older woman said, walking toward them. She was probably only five feet tall, with a stocky build and a long graying braid hanging over her shoulder. She wagged a finger, her head tilted, but she was smiling.
“You know me, Mrs. Thompson, always in trouble.”
She laughed, hearty and loud. “That I do, young man.” She stopped in front of them. “You know one of those tabloids came through town several years ago trying to get gossip on you.”
Sophie’s gut clenched.
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them you were a hot mess, always at the center of trouble.” She laughed.
“What else is new, right?” He chuckled but Sophie heard an underlying edge in his voice this time.
Sophie watched the two of them, lost in their easy camaraderie. She was from a small town but there were hundreds of people willing to sell her story to make a quick buck, whether it was true or not.
“Hello,” the woman said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Mary Anne Thompson. My husband owns the grocery store.”
“Oh, sorry Mrs. T.,” Grant said, stepping around her. “This is Sophie Day, my wife.”
Sophie’s head snapped up to meet his gaze. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him.
He shrugged. “What? You are.”
She turned back to the woman, taking her hand. She didn’t want to add more gossip to the small-town rumor mill. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Thompson.”
The woman took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Oh, please, call me Mary Anne.” She turned her attention to Grant. “Aww, I see you got the flowers.”
Grant ducked his head.
Oh my gosh, had he just blushed?
“You’re spoiling your wife,” the woman said, “just like a man should.”
Sophie fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wouldn’t insult the woman, but she knew what Grant was doing. He was manipulating Sophie. Most likely, he wanted to put on a show for the world, get everyone to think they were back together. Maybe his agent told him his reputation would recover if he could show the world he and Sophie Day were still in love.
“Everything okay, Sophie?”
Sophie glanced over her shoulder, thankful to see her drummer, Roger Steele—or Steele as everyone called him—walking toward them. Well, more like stalking, his dark brown eyes narrowed. Steele was always looking out for Sophie, something that had pissed Grant off when they’d been together.
“Hey, Steele,” she called out, breaking free from the group and moving to her drummer. She’d never been more thankful to see him. Jackie must have told him where she’d be.
Steele was wearing a gray T-shirt that hugged his muscular frame. His long, dark hair hung loose around his shoulders. Normally he’d wear it in a knot during concerts. The man had more of a following than Sophie did some nights.
He dragged a hand through his hair, showcasing the full-sleeve tattoo on his right arm, a part of which displayed her name, which she had to admit at times was a bit disturbing.
TJ Thompson had been generous offering a punk kid like Grant a job when he was just fourteen. The man had caught Grant stealing from the snack food aisle and had forced him to work off the debt. Apparently, Grant had turned out to be a valuable volunteer because a month later Grant received a paycheck and the rest had been history.
The familiar smells of the grocery store hit him as soon as he walked past the sliding glass doors, flooding his mind with images from his youth. He remembered stocking fresh fruit in the produce aisle, rolling out bread and shoving it in the oven while working in the bakery, and stacking canned goods on each shelf until they were perfect. It was incredible how the human brain could store so many memories, all wrapped up in the aromas that shaped your life.
Grant thought of Sophie’s perfume. His wife had never been one to spend tons of money on girly stuff, but perfume was her one indulgence. Since they’d split up, the kick in the midsection when he smelled that perfume always caught him off guard. Thankfully, it didn’t happen often.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” a familiar voice called over the half-wall of the manager’s booth to the left. “If it ain’t the world’s sexiest man alive.”
The heavy sarcasm in the voice was the only thing that made it not creepy as hell, given that the comment came from TJ. TJ talking about Grant as sexy was wrong on so many levels.
Grant snorted. He still saw himself as the regular small-town boy he’d always been, not a world-famous actor. And certainly not a sex symbol.
“Hey, Mr. Thompson. How’s it going?” Grant walked toward the large man. His graying hair was thinner and Grant could tell he was parting his hair closer to his ear to hide his balding head. The fact TJ was trying to preserve some semblance of vanity made him smile.
“Fancy seeing you here in town.”
“The festival starts tomorrow,” Grant said. “And thanks for your support, by the way.”
Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had provided the totes for the goodie bags and the flower displays, since Mary Anne Thompson owned the local flower shop.
“Yeah, I just thought you’d send your fancy assistant in here to do your shopping.”
“And miss a chance to see you? Never.”
Mr. Thompson shot him a grin. “I see you are quite the actor, aren’t you son?”
Grant went to shake Mr. Thompson’s hand but in an unusual display of affection, the old man brought him in for a tight hug.
“Thank you for what you’re doing for the town, Grant. We all appreciate you bringing your festival to Canyon Creek. It’s quite a boost to our economy, I tell you that.”
“My pleasure,” he said, and it was. Not only that, he thought his small town might offer just the right setting to try and win back his wife.
Mr. Thompson led them around the cash registers and into the store. “So, what are you here for?”
“Flowers,” he said.
Mr. Thompson cocked a brow. “Flowers, huh? For your momma?”
Grant laughed. “Uh, yes, for my mom.” He didn’t need any more people knowing about his plan to win back his wife. This film festival had started out as a way to help the town but for him, it had turned into so much more.
“Couldn’t possibly be for that pretty little wife of yours who, rumor has it, is on her way here?”
God, Grant had completely underestimated the gossip mill of Canyon Creek. He was pretty sure his Aunt Sally was the president and chief operating officer.
Mr. Thompson hit Grant hard on the back. “I’m just yanking your chain, son. Flowers are still in the back left side of the store. Mrs. Thompson has expanded the selection quite a bit, in fact.”
Grant knew that. He’d called ahead to ask Mrs. Thompson to order peonies for him since Sophie loved them so much. Mrs. Thompson had spent twenty minutes telling him all about the larger selection of flowers and the fact she now had peonies in stock almost all year.
“Yes, sir, I've got it. Thanks.”
“Well, I’ll be up at the booth when you’re done. Stop by and say good-bye before you leave.”
“Will do.” Grant smiled at the older man, thankful that he’d offered Grant support instead of retribution all those years ago.
Grant made his way to the flowers.
He searched the display looking for peonies. Sophie loved them for their simple elegance, she’d told him. It had surprised him because the same could be said for Sophie.
She was elegant and beautiful in a way that made her more attractive to him than any of the made-up women that he was used to meeting in Hollywood.
In the three years they’d been married he’d always admired that about her. She could afford anything her heart desired and what she’d wanted had been simple, really. Only he’d been unable to give her the one thing she wanted most, despite everything he had. He’d learned the hard way that money and power couldn’t provide everything.
Shaking off his mood, he searched the large display. He grabbed a large bouquet of pale pink peonies with baby’s breath mixed throughout the larger blooms. He’d learned all the terms for the different flowers when he worked at the store, and he knew without a doubt, Sophie would love the bouquet.
But would she love him again? Could she, after all they’d been through?
He had Sophie’s sister Jackie helping him this weekend, but he didn’t know if that would be enough to win his wife back. He just needed a shot at it, though, a chance to prove he’d changed. If he could show her he wasn’t the selfish asshole he once was, maybe she could love him again.
Grant headed back through the aisles, cutting through the pharmacy section toward the front registers. Without warning, he heard Sophie’s voice—in the store. His gut clenched as he glanced down at his watch. He thought he had at least another hour before they rolled up into town.
He headed toward the sound of her voice, moving into the pharmacy section as he went.
He could hear her muttering under her breath the way she always did when she was upset, or working on a new song. He hoped it was the latter but figured it probably wasn’t, given the way he’d basically strong-armed her sister into bringing her to the festival.
He stepped back behind a display to avoid her. He didn’t want their first meeting to be in the pharmacy section at TJ’s. But he wanted to catch a glimpse, needed to see her again, so he leaned around the shelf.
As always, his breath caught and his heart tripped in his chest at the sight of her. She was more beautiful than ever. Maybe she looked that way because they’d been apart for so long, but he didn’t think so. Sophie always had a pull over him that he’d never been able to overcome. Not that he wanted to.
She was dressed in her usual disguise when she went in public—oversized sun hat and sunglasses almost as large as her head. She wore a baggy sweatshirt that hung almost to her knees.
His sweatshirt. Hope nailed him in his chest.
Oh shit, she was walking toward him, still muttering.
He turned to duck down the other aisle but tripped over the edge of the shelving unit he’d been hiding behind. He instinctively reached out to balance himself, pushing at the display of boxes. Before he could right himself he watched in horror as the entire display fell over and boxes of tampons scattered across the floor.
“Oh, fuck,” he said under his breath.
“Oh, shiitake mushrooms.” Sophie spoke at the same time.
Grant dropped to the floor and tried to scoop up the boxes before anyone saw. He gave up the fight when he realized there were packages of tampons of all sizes and colors strewn across the floor, some an aisle away. Why did they make these things in neon colors?
“You always did have a unique way of entering a room, Mr. Sumner.”
Grant glanced up, happy to hear a lightness in Sophie’s tone that hadn’t been there the last time they’d talked. She removed her sunglasses, looking down at him.
Her hair was shorter now, just past her shoulders, but still the golden blonde it always had been. Small freckles dotted her nose and cheeks like he remembered. Once he’d told her he wanted to kiss each and every freckle on her body. And he had. His body hummed with need and his jeans felt tighter at the memory.
His heart tightened in his chest at the thought that he couldn’t reach out and pull her to him. That she was off limits to him now. It gutted him knowing he’d done that to them. He’d killed what they had together.
Sophie knelt in front of him and lifted a box of tampons, studying them closely. “Not my brand,” she chuckled. Her blue eyes met his and for a moment he saw sadness pooling in the aqua depths. Before he could study her, she donned her sunglasses, effectively shutting him out.
Dammit. He’d always been able to read Sophie, know her innermost thoughts when he could see her crystal blue eyes. Right now her actions were speaking louder than words ever could, something she was good at.
“Hey, Sophie,” he said, in an uncharacteristically quiet tone.
“Hey, Grant.” Her tone was flat and her face remained expressionless.
He hated that her smile was gone. It was one of the things he loved most about her, and the only thing he could truly give her since she made as much money, if not more, than him.
But not anymore. His ability to make his wife smile had vanished along with their hopes for a happily ever after to their story.
With the help of his family, the town—even Sophie’s own sister—maybe he could change that. And he’d start right now, standing in an aisle that he’d just littered with tampon boxes.
Chapter Three
Sophie’s head spun and her stomach tightened. Grant Sumner, her husband—or estranged husband—was squatting in front her, looking no worse for the wear.
He smiled that half grin that always turned her legs to jelly and made special parts of her tingle, as it did for most women in the world. The man hadn’t been voted sexiest man in the world for nothing.
His chiseled jaw was covered with the perfect amount of stubble to look sexy but not like a mountain man. His full lips spread wider and her pulse jumped as his beautiful teeth sparkled. Goodness sakes, the man could do a toothpaste commercial, had probably been offered one.
But it was his eyes that kept her captivated. They were a swirling mix of honey brown and emerald green that always stopped her in her tracks. Grant saw more of her with those gorgeous eyes than anyone else ever had.
Hoping to hide her surprise, and her desire, she slid her shades back on. She hadn’t expected to see him now. Especially shopping for tampons. She felt her face flush. Gosh, this was beyond humiliating.
“Clean up on aisle four,” someone yelled through the loud speaker.
“Oh, Christ,” Grant said, reaching out to grab as many boxes as he could. He worked to balance them in his large hands, seeming to ignore what the boxes held.
Sophie bit her lip to keep from laughing but quickly lost the battle. She snorted, covering her mouth with both hands.
He stared down at her, raising his brows. “This was your fault,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” She reached out to grab the boxes of tampons, too, moving toward him. “I wasn’t anywhere near this display when they fell.”
Grant stacked his boxes back on the toppled display, the actions swift and sure from years of making displays as a teen, and then grabbed Sophie’s stack. “I was trying to hide from you.”
“Me?” She chuckled. Her gaze fell to the hand at his side, clutching a cellophane package of flowers. Peonies. Her favorite.
Her breath caught in her chest.
No. She shook her head. She would not be affected by this man. She was here to sing at his festival’s concert and that was it. She cleared her throat. “Why were you hiding from me?”
He stood speechless, clutching the flowers.
“Wait,” she said, her gaze going from the peonies to his hazel eyes. “Were you expecting to see me?”
He shrugged, his mischievous grin returning.
Do not fall for his charm. Do not fall for his charm.
Her heart wasn’t listening to the warning as it beat wildly in her chest.
“Who said these were for you?” he asked.
She felt her skin burn with embarrassment first, then anger. Was he buying another woman flowers? And why did she care? “I, umm, I guess you’re right. It was wrong of me to assume. Maybe they’re for…” She didn’t want to say the words. Even though she hadn’t seen or talked to Grant in almost a year, her heart refused to believe he’d been with someone else. She wanted to think he wouldn’t do that to her.
He chuckled, in that low husky way that always set her skin on fire. How in the heck could he affect her so easily after all this time apart?
“Of course they’re for you, Soph.” He glanced down at the flowers then lifted them toward her. “I’ve never bought flowers for anyone but you.”
She cocked her head. That couldn’t be true.
“Unless a corsage for Darlene Wabowski counts.”
Her brows furrowed as she studied him.
“She was my date to senior prom. Apparently it’s her one claim to fame. She posts pictures of me in my cheesy tux all the time, telling everyone on social media I was madly in love with her.”
“Were you?”
Grant stepped closer.
Sophie moved to step back but ran into a shelf and quickly jumped forward to avoid another tampon tumble.
Grant grabbed her upper arm to steady her, his hand firm. His eyes nearly sparkled with the look he gave adoring fans in public. Normally she loved that look but today it felt like he was hiding, showing her his show-biz persona.
“It doesn’t matter.” She stepped around him, studying the various boxes of tampons.
He walked up behind her. “Remember that time in Reno? When you needed tampons and were hurting too bad to leave the tour bus?”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to remember how sweet and kind Grant had been back then. And trying to forget the fact that there would never be a time she wouldn’t need them. Not until she went through menopause, at least.
His hand reached around her and he grabbed a box of tampons. The exact ones she used. He brought the package down and held it out in front of her. It felt intimate, like he was about to wrap his arms around her.
He leaned in close, his breath brushing against her ear as he spoke. “I’ve only been in love with one girl my entire life. And it wasn’t Darlene Wabowski.”
How was it possible he was turning her into a heaping puddle of goo in the middle of the tampon section of the grocery store? She shivered and chastised herself for being so affected by this man. Her husband, she reminded herself. Her estranged husband. And if he knew the truth, soon to be her ex.
She stepped from his hold, breaking the spell he cast on her. Grabbing the box from his hand, she turned to leave.
“Of course it’s Grant Sumner causing all these problems,” an older woman said, walking toward them. She was probably only five feet tall, with a stocky build and a long graying braid hanging over her shoulder. She wagged a finger, her head tilted, but she was smiling.
“You know me, Mrs. Thompson, always in trouble.”
She laughed, hearty and loud. “That I do, young man.” She stopped in front of them. “You know one of those tabloids came through town several years ago trying to get gossip on you.”
Sophie’s gut clenched.
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them you were a hot mess, always at the center of trouble.” She laughed.
“What else is new, right?” He chuckled but Sophie heard an underlying edge in his voice this time.
Sophie watched the two of them, lost in their easy camaraderie. She was from a small town but there were hundreds of people willing to sell her story to make a quick buck, whether it was true or not.
“Hello,” the woman said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Mary Anne Thompson. My husband owns the grocery store.”
“Oh, sorry Mrs. T.,” Grant said, stepping around her. “This is Sophie Day, my wife.”
Sophie’s head snapped up to meet his gaze. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him.
He shrugged. “What? You are.”
She turned back to the woman, taking her hand. She didn’t want to add more gossip to the small-town rumor mill. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Thompson.”
The woman took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Oh, please, call me Mary Anne.” She turned her attention to Grant. “Aww, I see you got the flowers.”
Grant ducked his head.
Oh my gosh, had he just blushed?
“You’re spoiling your wife,” the woman said, “just like a man should.”
Sophie fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wouldn’t insult the woman, but she knew what Grant was doing. He was manipulating Sophie. Most likely, he wanted to put on a show for the world, get everyone to think they were back together. Maybe his agent told him his reputation would recover if he could show the world he and Sophie Day were still in love.
“Everything okay, Sophie?”
Sophie glanced over her shoulder, thankful to see her drummer, Roger Steele—or Steele as everyone called him—walking toward them. Well, more like stalking, his dark brown eyes narrowed. Steele was always looking out for Sophie, something that had pissed Grant off when they’d been together.
“Hey, Steele,” she called out, breaking free from the group and moving to her drummer. She’d never been more thankful to see him. Jackie must have told him where she’d be.
Steele was wearing a gray T-shirt that hugged his muscular frame. His long, dark hair hung loose around his shoulders. Normally he’d wear it in a knot during concerts. The man had more of a following than Sophie did some nights.
He dragged a hand through his hair, showcasing the full-sleeve tattoo on his right arm, a part of which displayed her name, which she had to admit at times was a bit disturbing.
