Page 60 of A Lot Like Lavender

EMORY

“These! We should get these!” Molly holds a bulk bag of Ring Pops to her chest. She’ll simply perish if she doesn’t have Red dye 40 in her system before the end of this grocery trip. “Puleeeease, Mom. They’re so good.”

“We can’t. They aren’t on the list.” I put them back on the shelf and grab a giant bag of dye-, peanut-, gluten-, dairy-, and flavor-free, PTA-approved candy for the festival. “I have to stay on the budget, okay?”

Jordan narrates at my side in his best David Attenborough voice. Something he’s been doing all morning, earning more than one giggle from both Molly and me. Who knew shopping with a man could be so entertaining?

“The stubborn female continues the search for sustenance for her young offspring, demonstrating the hunt for food is a multifaceted, complex system of hunting, assessing, and gathering only what is necessary for survival.”

Molly hardly smiles, slumping in defeat, and eyeing every piece of candy on the shelves for something thatmight be an option worthy of the opinionated parents of her classmates. Of course, I feel bad, but I can’t afford the extra expense on my own—especially as I cut costs for the farm while also deciding how much to invest, if any, in the vision I have for the piece of property that’s left.

I’ve been given a set amount of funds by the PTA for this event, and I can’t budge. So, moving down the aisle, I search for approved treats to fill the fifth-grade goodie bags we’ll be giving to each kid this weekend at the festival.

My hands are filled with budget-friendly and on-theme—but decidedly less appealing—candies, when I turn around and see Jordan and Molly still standing in front of the same place I left them. Jordan’s the first to look my way, rushing up to take the bags from me and place them in our cart.

When he makes puppy-dog eyes at me, holding his hands clasped at his chin, I know I’m in trouble. He doesn’t say a word, just begs me with those soulful, hazel eyes and a sexy smile that promises a reward. And I want whatever he’s offering.

“Seriously?”

He chuckles, looks over his shoulder to ensure Molly’s occupied with sulking, and quickly slips his mouth over mine.

“I can’t take it when she’s sad, Sweetheart,” he says against my lips, then kisses me again, running his hand down the length of my arm until our fingers are interlocked. I’m malleable clay under his masterful touch. “Don’t include them with the other stuff. They’re in my budget. My treat.”

“Fine.” I acquiesce far too quickly, poking him in the side. “But you have to be the one to explain to Bree and thegang why their kids are being poisoned with artificial coloring.”

“You ate a strawberry Pop-Tart this morning, chased down with strawberry milk.”

“We aren’t talking about me, Dr. Love. This is about the children.”

We walk hand in hand towards Molly and the Ring Pops she’s still making heart eyes at. Jordan swipes a bag from the shelf and puts them in the seat of the cart, winking at Molly as he does, before kissing my temple and beginning to push the cart again.

“The male showcases his weakness for the youngling, and thereby sets the stage for what are, to be sure, more grandiose gestures of his subservience to the greater gender,” Sir Attenborough continues his lesson. “He’s no more than a dog, lying on his back, desperate for a belly rub.”

Molly giggles, rubs his belly, then hugs his waist, walking with her arms linked around him. “Thanks, Ace. I’m going to give one to Theo when I propose. He loves strawberry best.”

Jordan freezes. “On second thought, these are really terrible for you. We should probably just throw them back. Pick out something with less commitment.”

I snort. He glares, and I’m not sorry in the slightest, because frantic protectiveness looks good on him.

“Or less sugar content. How about some apples? Yuuummmm.”

Molly shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Apples are so lame.”

“Why does it feel like she just called me lame?” he asks as Molly runs ahead of us.

“It’s a compliment of sorts. Means you’re doing something right.” I pat his hand. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I bet we could make up some little tags and call them graduation rings,” he announces. “The kids will love them. But Theo isn’t invited, right? He doesn’t even go to her school.”

I slip into my best Attenborough voice. “The male’s fiercely protective nature displays itself, ready to defend against the most beastly of enemies. The stalwart guardian hammers his hands to his chest and prepares to scare little boys?—”

He butt bumps me.

“I mean…dangerous predatorsaway from the precious cub.”

He grabs my wrist, stopping me in my tracks before we follow Molly into the next aisle. “She is precious to me,” he says, so earnestly. “You both are, Emory.”

His thumb swipes against my wrist, and I decide I don’t think I care who sees me make out with him against the marshmallow shelves. Going onto my tiptoes and stretching my hands up his chest until they dangle loosely around his neck, I pull myself to him as close as I can. This is all still so new to us but also familiar.