Page 61 of A Lot Like Lavender
Jordan, Molly, and I are a natural pack of our own.
It’s why declaring what I’ve known for a while, in the sweets aisle, feels as easy as pressing a kiss to his lips.
“I love you.” Three words that bring tears to my eyes. How true they are and the way my heart swells as I know how blessed I am to have felt this way not once, but twice in my life. “You’re precious to me. To us.”
Jordan’s eyes glisten with tears before he claims my mouth with his, gently and unhurriedly. But I feel thededication of his lips, his tongue, and his unspoken words all the way to my toes.
When he pulls away, running his nose along the length of mine and sealing it with a kiss on the forehead, he says, “I love you, Red. I love Molly.”
Which feels equally as important.
“I love what’s happening between us… And, I love this aisle.”
I snort against his smile. “It’s a good one.”
“Well,” a shrill voice ends my primal declaration of love for the man I’m cocooned within.
Why does Bree Taylor always seem to appear at the worst possible moment? Am I being punished somehow? Is she, like, a nudge of the Holy Spirit, telling me not to want to pull other women’s hair out or to stop the PDA with my boyfriend in the candy section?
“This is such a surprise.”
Jordan’s hand snakes around my waist as he leans in and whispers, “Master of stealth, the female prowls through the shadows towards her prey.”
She doesn’t seem to notice or care about the proprietary hand he’s splayed on the small of my back when she stalks as close as she can and greets him with a full frontal hug. “You saved the day last week, Dr. Love. My Clementine was positively smitten with you. We’ve never had a vet she adored so much.”
“Clementine is a very special dog, Mrs. Taylor.”
She grabs his forearm. Arguably in the top five most attractive pieces of the man’s body. “You are a very special veterinarian.”
No, ma’am. Not today. Not in my favorite aisle.
I clear my throat. “Great to see you, Bree.” I loop my arm around Jordan’s waist. If this is the jungle and Bree’sdead set on female controlled mating and intimidation tactics, I will not be leaving Jordan out for the wolves to descend. He, quite simply, is mine. “Is your husband with you? I’d love to introduce him to my boyfriend.”
Not that Jordan Love has ever labeled himself as such, but the man sleeps on my couch every night, and he did just say he loves me and my kid before sucking face in the grocery store, so I’m guessing he won’t mind me defining the relationship. Especially with my good friend and co-PTA parent, Bree Taylor, who’s sneering at me with such disdain, you’d think I’d just said I hated her demented dog, Clementine, or sweet tea or Hellman’s mayonnaise. An impiety in the South if there ever was one.
Boyfriend admittedly sounds too simplistic for what I’m feeling towards Jordan. I know he isn’t going anywhere, and though I don’t think we’ll be racing down a wedding aisle tomorrow, I also can’t picture taking that particular jaunt with anyone else. Ever.
The smirk he’s giving me tells me he doesn’t mind that title one bit. And probably that he’ll give me a hard time for my territorial display.
“I’d love to meet your husband and the rest of your family,” he says.
It’s so charming, I almost forget Bree isn’t someone I want to spend time with. Nope, I’m mentally planning double dates with a person I genuinely don’t like to be around, just so I can keep Jordan on my arm like this and strut him around town in front of all the other women who might get the same idea as Bree.
He’s mine, ladies. You can look, but don’t you dare touch.
“He’s golfing,” she snips. “With Trey.”
“Trey Asscroft?” Jordan asks, mischief in his grin. “Good dude.”
Bree scoffs and clutches her chest, the Freudian slip a step too far for her delicate sensibilities. “Well, I… I better be going. Garth is waiting on me.”
At that exact moment, Molly and Garth appear at the end of the aisle. Molly’s hands are filled with more sugary snacks she’ll be convincing Jordan to purchase, and one of Garth’s hands holds a wrapper while the other is covered in what I sincerely hope is chocolate.
“Garth!” Bree screeches, running towards her son. “What did you do? You know you’re lactose intolerant.”
Molly gives me a look like,That explains it.And Bree races poor Gassy Garth away from us and out of sight, never giving our little family another thought.
“I’m starving,” Jordan announces, pushing our cart out of one aisle and down another. “How ‘bout we finish up here and I treat my girls to some lunch?”
