With one last quick glance, I leave the baby section behind and head toward the groceries, getting milk, eggs, bread, lunch meat, chips, and frozen pizza. Laundry detergent for me and more for Knox. Mom brought some over, but you never know when you’ll need it, and I don’t want to run out. Those final additions have my cart overflowing—another first for me.
I head toward the front of the store, needing to get home.
I miss my little man.
Aunt Flow has decided to make her appearance a few days early. I’m cranky and irritable, and the last thing I want to do is brave the grocery store. I don’t have a choice, though, since Dawn is working late today. I thought about texting her to bring some supplies home, but I’ve searched the house high and low and we have nothing. How is it possible that out of the two of us, we have one tampon in this entire house? I strip out of my scrubs, throw on some yoga pants and a Sam Hunt concert T-shirt, and tie my hair in a knot on top of my head.
Good enough.
It’s not like I have anyone to impress.
At the store, I don’t bother with a cart, just head straight for the feminine hygiene section. I grab two boxes of tampons and two boxes of panty liners and call it good, stopping at the first register to wait in line. I can’t help but notice the guy in front of me. He’s wearing jeans that mold to his ass, not leaving anything to the imagination, and a black T-shirt that fits tight around his muscular arms. Tattoos peek through, running down his arm. Wait, those tattoos look familiar. Tall, dark hair, inked . . . Please don’t let it be him. Shit! I’m not taking the chance of him seeing me like this; I look like hell, and have an entire arsenal of menstrual supplies in my arms.
I turn quickly, as though I forgot something, and bump into the cart behind me. Dammit, why is she standing so close?
“Sorry,” the little old lady—who reminds me of my grandma—says.
How can I be mad about that?
“No problem, I just forgot. . . .”
“Kendall?” his deep voice rumbles from behind me.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The little old lady winks at me. Seriously? I feel my face flush, but know I have to turn around. Sucking in a deep breath, I slowly release it as I turn.
Ridge fucking Beckett, just as I thought. Looking fine as hell and smiling at me.
“Ridge, hi,” I squeak out. My hands tug on my T-shirt, wishing it were longer. I feel bloated and nasty, and I just want to wake up from this nightmare. No woman wants to be seen like this by a man who looks like Ridge.
“Hey.” His eyes roam over my body from head to toe, eventually landing back on mine. “Early day?” he asks.
“Yeah, just stopping for a few things.” I raise my arms and immediately drop them. What the hell am I doing? I’m sure during his appraisal of my body he saw them, but I didn’t have to offer up my tampon surplus to him on a silver fucking platter.
“Yeah.” He grins. “Me too.” He steps to the side so I can see his cart, which is overflowing with baby supplies plus some other items piled on top.
“You do know what ‘a few’ means, right?” I tease him.
He blushes. Ridge fucking Beckett blushes. I made him blush! “Yeah, I just . . . wasn’t really sure what he needed and wanted to stock up,” he admits.
From the look of his cart, he bought the basics. I would’ve thought he and the mother had planned for this before now. “Got a little bit of everything, I see. One of the girls at work has that same bouncer; we bought it for her at her shower. She swears by it.” Now I’m just rambling. Could this moment be any more embarrassing?
“Yeah, I, uh, read the reviews. They’re good. I hope he likes it.” A soft smile lights up his already handsome face.
“I’m sure he will.” I know it’s none of my business, but his situation intrigues me. I would’ve thought all of this was done, that she would’ve had a shower.
“Sir?” the cashier says.
“Sorry,” Ridge replies before turning to me. “You want to go first?” He eyes the four small boxes in my arms.
“No, you go ahead.” I want to ogle you without you knowing.
He begins placing his items on the belt, and I watch every move he makes—the flex of the muscles in his arms, the way he stacks each item as if it’s his precious baby boy. I watch as he lifts a small blue bear from the cart, tucking it under one arm while he loads everything else on the belt. The bear is the final item, other than the big stuff on the bottom of his cart. It gives me that feeling—you know, the one that makes you feel like your entire body is melting into a pile of goo—seeing this man manhandle a small stuffed bear for his newborn son as if it’s the most important thing in the world.
Goo. Big ole pile of mushy feel goodness right here in line at the local Walmart. Not a woman alive could resist the effect the scene before me creates.
Ridge places his bags in his cart and pays. As he’s taking his receipt, he turns to me. “Good to see you again, Kendall. I guess me and the little man will be seeing you in about a month.”
It takes my brain a minute to catch up; I’m still drooling over him. “Right, his one-month appointment. I’ll see you then.” I smile politely.
Ridge gives me a small wave and then he’s gone. I place my four boxes on the belt and the cashier, a young girl, smirks at me. “He’s hot,” she says bluntly.
Oh, honey, you have no idea. I don’t reply, just smile at her and pull out my debit card. I swipe my card, grab my bag and receipt, and head for the door. I’ve had enough embarrassment for one day.