Trusting Taylor (Silverstone)

by Susan Stoker

  She dropped his hand, and Eagle immediately wanted to grab it right back, haul her close, and see if her hair was as soft as it looked. But he did none of those things. He was attracted to the woman, but it was more than obvious she needed a friend. It was presumptuous of him to assume so, but there it was.

  “I’m not sharing my cart with you,” she quipped as she headed for the row of shopping carts. “You’ll have to push your own.”

  “I’m okay with that,” Eagle told her. “We just met—can’t have our food touching.”

  She chuckled and shook her head at him, and just like that, Eagle wanted to get to know this woman. He wanted to know everything about her. What it was like growing up with prosopagnosia, who her friends were, where she lived, what her job was—everything.

  He had a peculiar feeling that knowing her would change his life . . . for the better.

  “I can hear you thinking,” Taylor said as they walked through the produce section.

  “It’s just . . . I have about a million questions,” Eagle admitted. “I’ve never met someone like you.”

  “Prosopagnosia is rare,” she explained. “Only about two percent of the population is born with it. I can’t recognize faces, even my own. If you showed me a lineup of pictures and included mine, I wouldn’t be able to tell you which picture was me. I can make out individual features—like the fact you have blue eyes—but if you then showed me ten pictures of blue eyes, I wouldn’t be able to pick out yours. But otherwise, I’m just like anyone else. I can make sound and rational decisions, and I wince when someone mixes polka dots and stripes in their outfits.”

  “And I’m the opposite,” Eagle told her. “I wouldn’t be able to tell you what’s fashionable and what isn’t, but if my second-grade teacher suddenly showed up in front of us, I’d not only be able to recognize her, but tell you her name.”

  He blindly reached for a bunch of bananas, and Taylor reached out and put a warm hand on his wrist.

  Eagle glanced at her. He liked her hand on him. A little too much.

  “You aren’t seriously getting those, are you?” she asked with a little frown.

  Looking down at the bundle of bananas he was about to put in his cart, Eagle shrugged. “Yes?”

  “No,” she said firmly, taking the fruit out of his hand and putting it back on the stand. She reached for another bunch and held it out to him. “Here. These are much better.”

  “Why?” Eagle asked.

  “You said you were shopping for a group of people, right?”

  “Yeah. There are over a dozen employees at Silverstone. They don’t all work at the same time, but they’re allowed to stop in whenever they want to hang out or to eat. Their families are welcome too.”

  “Right, so if you got that first bunch of bananas, they’d be bad within a day or two. If you get them a little greener, like those,” she said, nodding to the ones she’d picked out, “they’ll last longer. Besides . . . who wants to eat mushy bananas?”

  “Hadn’t really thought about it,” Eagle told her honestly.

  Taylor shook her head. “You really do suck at this shopping thing.”

  “I told you I did,” Eagle said.

  “I know, but I thought you were just hitting on me or something.”

  Eagle chuckled. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, I have a feeling you’re pretty astute and would see right through any kind of flirting I might attempt. But I do suck at shopping. I just don’t have the patience for it.”

  “Flirting doesn’t really work with me,” Taylor told him in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she was talking about the weather.

  “What does work?” Eagle blurted, wanting to take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth.

  “Giving me time. Showing me with more than words that I can trust you.”

  Eagle stared at the woman next to him. At six-two, he was at least half a foot taller than her, and he had the urge to beat the shit out of anyone who’d broken her trust.

  Inexplicably, he wanted to stand between her and the rest of the world. He couldn’t decide if it was because he was sexually attracted, if her condition had him so intrigued, or if it was simply a matter of how vulnerable she seemed.

  But regardless, one thing Eagle knew . . . he was going to do everything he could to prove to this woman that she could trust him. If that meant being a friend and nothing else, so be it. Earning her trust seemed more important than anything physical . . . at least at the moment.

  “You can trust me,” he told her.

  She shrugged. “I’ve heard that before.”

  Eagle didn’t like being lumped in with the other assholes who’d obviously let her down in the past. “You can,” he insisted.

  “What else is on your list of things to buy?” she asked, changing the subject.

  Eagle let her, because at the moment, he had no idea how to convince her he was one of the good guys, let alone why he wanted to.

  Well, not completely a good guy. He had a feeling if he told her that he and his friends traveled the world, ridding it of the worst of humanity, that wouldn’t exactly earn her trust.

  Instead of telling her what was on his list, he showed her. With Archer away, the employees took turns cooking, and they’d made a list of things for him to buy so they could put together meals. It was a hot mess, with ingredients scribbled in no particular order on the notepad kept on the refrigerator. Most of the time when he shopped, he just started at the top and worked his way down, having to backtrack several times throughout the store to get stuff from an aisle he’d already been down. It was a pain in the ass, and part of the reason he hated the chore.

  “What is this?” Taylor asked, squinting at his list.

  “Everything I need to buy,” Eagle replied, telling her something she obviously already knew. “The employees at the station write down what they want, and I shop.”

  “Holy crap, this is awful,” she told him. “No wonder you hate shopping.”

  Eagle couldn’t help it—he laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Okay, first things first, we need to put some order to this,” Taylor said, grabbing her cart and heading for an empty part of the produce section, out of the way of the other shoppers. She reached into her purse and rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a pen and a receipt.

  “This isn’t ideal, but it’ll have to do,” she mumbled. Then she propped his list on top of her purse, which was sitting in the child seat of the cart, and bent over the receipt. She’d turned it over and was writing on the blank back side.

  “Okay, you’ve got muffin mix down twice, but they didn’t say what kind, so I think you should get blueberry and cinnamon raisin. If they don’t like it, tough, they should’ve specified. Eggs are on here three times, so maybe if you get two dozen, that should be good enough for a week. And if it’s too much, they’ll keep until next time. Fresh fruit? What kind? Jeez, they need to be more specific. No wonder you hate this; no one tells you exactly what they want, so they’re setting you up to fail. Fine . . . how about apples, peaches, and grapes? If they want something else, they’ll have to be more specific next time. Ground hamburger, chicken breasts, and shrimp . . . that’s easy enough.”

  Eagle observed Taylor as she completely took over his list. She was scribbling furiously on the back of the receipt, and he couldn’t help but smile as she continually mumbled under her breath while she wrote. It was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. It was cute as fuck—but it also concerned him as well.

  “Taylor?” a voice called out, making her jerk in surprise.

  Eagle turned and saw a middle-aged woman coming toward them, smiling brightly.

  “I thought that was you. How are you? It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” the woman enthused.

  Glancing at Taylor, Eagle saw that she hadn’t been lying about her condition . . . not that he’d thought she had. She had absolutely no idea who the woman standing near them was—the woman who was wait
ing to be acknowledged.

  It truly dawned on him for the first time how frustrating and difficult not recognizing anyone might be.

  Plastering a smile on his face, he stepped forward and held out a hand to the woman. “I’m Eagle, a friend of Taylor’s. I don’t think we’ve met?”

  And just as he knew she would, the woman turned her attention to him. “Oh, hi. I’m Wanda Wright.”

  “Nice to meet you. How do you know Taylor?” Eagle asked as he shook her hand.

  “We used to live in the same apartment complex,” the chatty woman volunteered. “I moved out last year to another complex closer to my son’s. His wife left him and their two kids, and I wanted to be closer to help out.”

  “How are Gail and Bobby doing?” Taylor asked softly from behind him.

  Eagle dropped the woman’s hand and took a step back.

  “Oh, they’re doing great!” Wanda gushed. “They’re flourishing in school and are growing like weeds.”

  “And your son? He’s okay?” Taylor asked.

  “He had a hard time of it for a while, but I think he’s finally realized the bitch he married did him a favor by leaving. The divorce went through, and he got full custody . . . not that she contested it at all. She was more concerned with her new twenty-year-old boyfriend to want to deal with kids. Her loss. And how’re things going with you?”

  Eagle tuned out the conversation and concentrated on observing Taylor. As soon as Wanda had approached, she’d tensed, her fingers curling into her palms. But she looked relaxed now. The two women talked about some of Taylor’s neighbors and commiserated about the woes of apartment living.

  “I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Wanda said after a while. “It was great to see you again. I was happy to move closer to my grandbabies, but I was sorry to say goodbye to you.”

  “I’m glad things are working out for you,” Taylor told her.

  Wanda smiled huge and said her goodbyes.

  After Wanda had pushed her cart away, Taylor turned to Eagle. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Eagle asked, playing dumb.

  Taylor frowned. “You know what. I had no idea who that was, and you seamlessly stepped in and made her introduce herself.”

  Eagle looked into her dark-brown eyes and said, “You don’t know me, and like you said, you have no reason to trust me. But you absolutely can. I’m going to prove it.”

  She didn’t say anything, but didn’t drop her gaze either.

  They stared at each other for a long moment before he nodded to the list still in her hand. “Is that salvageable?”

  Sighing, Taylor shrugged and then said in a wry tone, “I’m not sure. I really did think you were throwing me a line about the not-good-at-shopping thing.”

  “I wasn’t. I’m not.”

  “I see that now. I think I’ve got the original list reorganized according to the aisles in the store. We might still have to do a bit of backtracking, but hopefully not much. You really ought to get your employees to make an electronic list. I can barely read some of their handwriting.”

  “Archer will take care of it,” Eagle told her.

  “Archer?”

  “He’s the new guy. Shawn Archer. He’s currently got the week off, but when he gets back, I have no doubt he’ll take charge of all this, and those haphazard lists will be a thing of the past. Not to mention, he’ll be the one shopping . . . thank God!”

  “Good. Well, come on. I’ve already been at this damn store much longer than I’d planned, and if I’m going to help you, we need to get on with it.”

  She grabbed her cart and was about to turn it to continue shopping when Eagle put his hand on her arm, stopping her. “Thank you. For helping me. I’m man enough to admit when I’m in over my head. I’d have eventually figured that list out, but I’d have been in a piss-poor mood by the time I did. So thank you.”

  “No, thank you for making me not dread being here for once in my life.”

  And with that, she pulled away and headed back toward the apples. With no other choice, Eagle followed . . . not that it was a hardship to watch her from behind.

  Taylor couldn’t remember a time that she’d felt so relaxed in public. Normally she dreaded every single second she spent outside her apartment. Inside her safe space, she was Taylor Cardin, highly educated, much-sought-after proofreader, and confident in her abilities. She loved watching cooking shows and trying out new recipes. She had good relationships with her regular clients and was witty and funny in emails and on social media.

  But the second she stepped outside, she turned into someone she didn’t like very much. Meek, unsure, and standoffish.

  She’d put off grocery shopping for as long as possible, finally setting out for the store that morning. Taylor knew she could shop online and do the curbside-pickup thing, but she didn’t like the thought of someone else picking out her food. She was particular about her meat and fruits and vegetables. Besides, many times when she was wandering the aisles, she got inspired to try something new in the kitchen.

  But she hated running into people she knew. Or rather, who knew her. It was always awkward. She either pretended she knew the person, or she had to admit that she didn’t recognize them. People hated that. She’d lost too many friends to count over the years because she simply didn’t know who they were when she saw them.

  Forcing the depressing thoughts to the back of her mind, Taylor turned her attention to the man behind her and what had happened in the parking lot.

  She could identify the men who’d been fighting based on their clothes, but as soon as they went home and changed, she wouldn’t know them from Adam. Taylor was well aware that the officers were skeptical about her condition. Maybe even thought she was lying to get out of testifying, if it came to that. She’d felt awkward as hell as they’d discussed her disability, with regard to what they should put in their report about her, in front of the other witnesses, who, one by one, were allowed to go about their day while she’d been detained.

  She felt as if she’d done something wrong, when all she’d been doing was trying to buy some damn food.

  Then Eagle was there.

  She’d known people like him existed; they were called super recognizers in her world. People with the opposite ability to what she had. She’d pretty much expected him to blow her off too, to make her feel as stupid as the officer had when he’d compared her to Drew Barrymore’s character in 50 First Dates. She hadn’t meant to blurt out to Eagle that she wasn’t like that character, but he hadn’t even blinked.

  She also hadn’t expected him to introduce himself to Wanda. He could’ve stood there and watched her struggle to figure out who the woman was. But instead, he’d taken the initiative to help. She’d known that was what he was doing the second he’d introduced himself.

  That conversation had been the most “normal” one she’d had with someone in a very long time. She’d actually enjoyed seeing Wanda again and hearing how she and her grandkids were doing. There wasn’t any awkwardness on either of their parts.

  Taylor didn’t know anything about Eagle, except that he apparently was clueless about cooking and shopping for food. She also knew he worked at Silverstone Towing, which in itself said plenty, because the company was well known around the Indianapolis area. The police officers obviously knew him and were comfortable with him.

  Hmmm, maybe she knew more about the man than she’d thought.

  “Why the hell are there so many kinds of flour? It makes no sense,” he grumbled.

  Taylor couldn’t help but chuckle.

  He turned to her. “What? Look at this shit. There are rows and rows of fucking flour. It’s stupid. All-purpose, cake, bread, self-rising, whole wheat, gluten-free . . . jeez.”

  Taking pity on him, Taylor reached for two bags of all-purpose flour and put them in his cart. “There’re different kinds for different kinds of baking. But because your people didn’t specify what they wanted, they get the normal everyday kind. If they wan
t something else, they’ll learn to be more specific.”

  Eagle simply grunted.

  It was such a guy thing to do, she couldn’t help but giggle.

  “Are you laughing at me, woman?” he asked, his brows shooting upward.

  “Yup,” she admitted easily. And suddenly Taylor realized she was having fun. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she was enjoying herself while out in public.

  “Before I lose my mind about all this food shit and how complicated it is, tell me more about yourself,” Eagle ordered. “What do you do?”

  Taylor knew she could blow him off and he’d let her change the subject, but she didn’t want to. She liked Eagle. He was blunt, but he’d also made her laugh. That went a long way with her.

  “I’m a proofreader.”

  He glanced over at her. “A what?”

  “A proofreader. I take things people have written and read them to make sure there aren’t any errors. Commas, spelling, grammar, that kind of thing.”

  “Books?”

  “Yes. And speeches. And manuals for products, and even textbooks. You name it, I proof it.”

  “I didn’t know that was a thing,” he admitted.

  “Most people don’t. But you’d be surprised at the number of errors I find. Even if something’s been edited over and over, there are still errors that slip through. I don’t promise to find everything, as I’m human, but things like homophones, for instance, are some of the hardest things for people to catch.”

  When he stared at her blankly, Taylor explained, “Homophones are words that sound the same, but have different meanings. They’re spelled differently depending on what they mean. Like, right and write . . . the first is a direction, and the second is a verb to put something down on paper. Or they can be spelled the same way, but mean something different. Like pen. It could be a writing utensil or a holding area for animals.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it . . . except when I’m reading a book and the author’s used their, t-h-e-i-r, when they meant they’re, t-h-e-y-apostrophe-r-e.”

  “Or there, t-h-e-r-e,” Taylor added.