Page 70 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"He really doesn't."

She laughs. I slide an empty crate toward her before she asks. She takes it without looking. A few minutes later, she hands me the peppers I'm reaching for.

We fall into a rhythm. I sort. She packs. I hand her something. She already knows where it goes.

Eventually, we stop talking. We don't need to. That should make the silence awkward. It doesn't.

Hart reaches across me for an empty crate. Her shoulder brushes my arm.

"Excuse me."

She doesn't sound particularly sorry.

"There's another one behind you."

"This one's closer."

I look at her.

"Of course it is."

"Glad you understand."

She takes the crate and goes back to packing. I watch her for half a second too long. She catches me.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

"Good."

She turns away. Still smiling. I shake my head and reach for another tomato.

It's one of the better ones from this morning's harvest. Deep red. Firm. No bruising. Hart notices it immediately.

"Wait."

"What?"

"I want to see."

"You've seen tomatoes before."

"Not that one."

I hold it out. I expect her to take it. She doesn't. Instead, she slips one hand beneath mine, steadying it, while the fingers of her other hand slowly turn the tomato in my palm.

I feel all of it. Her palm against the back of my hand. Her fingers brushing mine. The light pressure of her touch as she examines the skin.

She is looking at the tomato. I'm not.

"Beautiful," she says softly.

"Yes, it is."

Her fingers stop. Slowly, she lifts her eyes to mine. A beat passes. Then another.

"The tomato, Martinez."