Chapter 246
[ 456 words ]
Chapter 246:
Thirty minutes later, the black armored SUV pulled up to a high-end, heavily secured organic grocery store in Georgetown.
Jarrod had changed into a black leather jacket and dark jeans. His right arm remained held carefully still at his side as he moved, the jacket draped loosely over his shoulders to conceal the rigid brace beneath. His left hand stayed close to his waist out of habit. His eyes swept the aisles with lethal, hyper-vigilant precision, making the other wealthy shoppers instinctively step out of his way.
Caroline pushed a silver shopping cart, carefully inspecting organic tomatoes.
Jarrod walked exactly one step behind her. He looked like a bodyguard expecting an ambush in the produce section.
𝖢𝘩i𝘯e𝗌e no𝗏𝘦𝗹𝘀 t𝗿𝘢𝗇ѕ𝗹𝖺𝘵𝗲𝖽 о𝘯 𝗴𝖺𝗅ոo𝘃е𝘭𝗌.𝗰о𝗆
Caroline picked up a box of brightly colored macarons and tossed them into the cart.
Jarrod immediately reached in with his left hand, picked up the box, and put it back on the shelf.
“Empty calories,” Jarrod stated flatly. “Refined sugar is a neurotoxin. You aren’t eating that.”
Caroline rolled her eyes, refusing to argue with his ridiculous Special Forces dietary paranoia. The gesture was absurd — this man who controlled her schedule, her security, her entire existence, was micromanaging her dessert intake — and yet something about the mundane domesticity of it settled strangely in her chest. Not trust. Not yet. But a quiet note of recognition. He was trying, in the only clumsy way he knew how, to take care of her. She filed the observation away without judgment.
She walked to the butcher counter and pointed at a massive, two-pound Tomahawk steak. “How about this?”
Jarrod looked at the thick cut of meat. A faint, approving smirk touched his lips. He reached over the glass with his left hand, grabbed the wrapped package himself, and dropped it into the cart.
For the next twenty minutes, Jarrod shadowed her through the store, loading the cart with whatever she pointed to. He pushed it with his left hand, his right arm motionless against his side, never taking his eyes off her.
They paid for the groceries and walked out into the cool evening air.
Jarrod lifted the heavy paper bags into the trunk with his left arm, bracing them against his chest as he maneuvered each one. The movement was practiced and efficient, compensating for the limb that refused to heal.
He turned around and looked at Caroline standing under the yellow glow of the streetlamp.
She was watching him. The cold, defensive walls she always kept up were still there, but they had lowered by a fraction — just enough for him to glimpse something softer beneath.
Jarrod’s heart seized in his chest. He stepped forward, wrapped his left arm around her waist, and pulled her flush against his uninjured side.
“Let’s go home,” Jarrod whispered into her hair.
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