CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SABLE HAD NEVER been grocery shopping in Beverly Hills. If it had been up to her, she never would. Colt decided it would be fun, and no amount of persuasion would sway him. Since she went where Colt went, Sable had no choice.
“I have a list of people who will do this for you. They were vetted and approved. Pick one and let them do their job.”
They hadn’t arrived at the store. There was no harm in making one more attempt at getting Colt to see reason.
“This will be fun.” Colt pulled into the parking lot.
“Have you ever been grocery shopping?”
“Once. Lorena took me when I was a little boy.”
“And the experience was so life changing it’s taken over twenty years for you to do it again.”
Colt found a spot near the store entrance. It seemed the parking Gods were with him today.
“Why are you so opposed to buying a few essentials?”
“Call it bodyguard intuition. You can’t go anyplace without drawing a crowd. I have images dancing in my head of me peeling women off you in the middle of the produce department.”
“You heard what Mom said. The Beverly Hills Custom Foods gets celebrities all the time. No one will give me a second look.”
That wasn’t exactly what Callie had said. She told them that she shopped at the store. As did several of her friends. The regulars were used to her stopping in for a loaf of bread or a jar of Caleb’s favorite olives. No matter how blasé the Beverly Hills consumer, they were not accustomed to glancing up and seeing Colton Landis testing the ripeness of a cantaloupe.
Even in his faded jeans and dark blue t-shirt, Colt did not look like your average shopper. Unless that shopper was over six feet tall with dark wavy hair, bright blue eyes, and had a body that would tempt saints to turn in their halos. If men like that walked the aisles on a regular basis, then yes, they might breeze in and out of the store without incident. Somehow, Sable had her doubts.
“If you fill all of those, where are we going to put it all?”
Colt had borrowed some reusable, environmentally friendly grocery bags from his mother. Sable thought two or three would be plenty. Colt took eight. Just in case.
“The trunk is surprisingly roomy.”
Sable couldn’t help but grin. He had the enthusiasm of a little boy and it was contagious. If this was how he wanted to spend part of his day off, she would play along. But she wouldn’t let her guard down in case a rabid fan hid behind a box of cereal or under the random bag of potatoes.
Fifteen minutes later, Sable realized Colt’s fans were not the problem. He had no self-control. Every item was irresistible. Twinkies. Frosted Flakes. Spam.
“What are you going to do with that?” Sable asked when he added a dozen cans to the cart.
“Eat it.”
“Have you ever tasted Spam?”
“No.” For good measure, he added another can. “Did you know that Hawaii is the number one consumer of Spam? There must be thousands of recipes. I’ll look some up when we get home.”
Colt wasn’t shopping, he was storing up for the apocalypse.
Sable gave him an indulgent smile. Then, while he read the back of a can of Chef Boyardee, she put all but one can back on the shelf. Six boxes of Cap’n Crunch turned into two.
This continued aisle after aisle.
“You will weigh three hundred pounds if you eat all this junk.”
“I have a stellar metabolism.”
Colt leaned over to get something on the bottom shelf.
“That isn’t the only thing that’s stellar.”
“Are you checking out my ass, Ms. Ford?”
“Of course not.” Sable sent him an innocent smile. “And when you put that jar of pigs’ feet back, I promise not to check you out again.”
“I thought I might get them.”
“No. It’s like someone was trying to cover up the smell of spoiled meat by splashing it with vinegar.”
Colt cringed. He replaced the jar.
“How do you know that?”
“My mother loves them. Grandma Freed sends some every year for Christmas.”
“You didn’t acquire a taste for them?”
“No,” Sable said emphatically. “Mom says it’s a southern thing.”
“Where was she born?”
“Treetop, Tennessee.” Sable shook her head when Colt offered her a sample of apple pie from the bakery counter. “Mom is a walking, talking contradiction. She’ll go on for days about how much she hated Treetop. Her goal was to get as far away as possible. She didn’t want anything to do with it ever again.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“I agree. She lost her accent and tells people that she was born in Georgia.”
“Why is that better than Tennessee?” Colt took another bite of pie.
“Beats me. Dad calls it Iris logic. Meaning there is no logic at all. And those pigs’ feet? She hides them in the back of the cupboard and eats them when she’s certain no one will see her. I only know about them because late one night when I was eight, I wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She was at the table stuffing these gelatinous globs into her mouth as fast as possible.”
Colt tossed the rest of the pie into a nearby trash can.
“Full?”
“No. You paint quite the picture, Sable. Gelatinous globs?” Colt shuddered. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Sorry.” Sable hid her smile. That hadn’t been her intent when she started the story, but it was a nice bonus. “Are you ready to hit the checkout line?”
“Are you tired of emptying the basket as soon as I fill it?”
“You stinker!” Sable recognized that particular twinkle in Colt’s eyes. “You were doing that on purpose.”
“Not at first.” Laughing, Colt blocked her playful punch to his midsection. He held onto her hand. “After the first few times, I couldn’t resist.”
“I followed you around for an hour.” Sable shook her head. Instead of hitting him, she slid her arms around his waist and squeezed. Hard.
“You should have caught on sooner. Geez, Sable. I’m not a little boy who can’t control my impulses.”
Sable kissed his neck, breathing in his spicy scent.
“No, you aren’t a little boy. Thank you, God. But I’ll argue the impulse bit. Your control,” she lowered her voice, “outside of sex, is questionable.”
“Sable, honey, this is not the place to tease. Let’s hit the produce department and head home. I’ll give you a sample of my infinite control.”
“Sounds like a plan I can get behind.”
“I thought I would get behind you.”
“And?” She loved when Colt explained in great detail what he was going to do to her. Mental foreplay. It drove her crazy.
“I’ll go into detail in the car. Now, tomatoes.”
“And apples. You are completely out of apples. What?” Sable asked when she noticed his frown.
“Why do you always make a point of saying you instead of we?”
“Do I?” Sable wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t understand. Nor was she going to explain that, for her own piece of mind, she needed to remind herself that she wasn’t a permanent part of his life. “It is your place.”
“Not at the moment.”
“It’s yours.” Sable wouldn’t waver. Not on this point. “I’m your employee. And your guest.”
“Okay.” Colt began pushing the cart. “Come on. Tomatoes and apples.” He winked. “And anything else that looks good.”
Sable followed, not certain what just happened. Colt never gave in that easily when it mattered to him. Which meant, her status wasn’t important. Bodyguard? Friend? Lover? She kept reminding herself that she didn’t belong. And it was obvious that Colt agreed.
Wasn’t that what she wanted? When it was time to leave, didn’t she want the break to be clean, easy, and as painless as possible? Sable felt a lump form in her stomach. Funny h
ow getting her way wasn’t always as satisfying as she would think.
Sable saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, followed by a sharp, high-pitched squeal. Both were directed at Colton. Without thought, she positioned herself to ward off the threat. Automatically, her hand reached for the gun in her purse.
“Colton Landis. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.”
A woman in her fifties reached out to touch Colt, then pulled back her hand at the last second, blushing like a teenager. She shuffled from one foot to the other, her breath coming in large gulps. Dressed in khaki pedal pushers and a bright lime green shirt, she had tourist written all over her. She probably came to Beverly Hills to see some movie stars. Boy, she hit the jackpot.
A fan. Sable relaxed and zipped her purse. She didn’t think pointing a gun at a woman whose only weapon was a ballpoint pen would go over well with the store management, the press, or Colt.
From the moment they entered the store, Sable had known a fan attack was a possibility. One quivering, exuberant woman wasn’t bad. It could have been worse. As she soon found out.
“Denise. Denise.” The woman frantically waved her hand in the air. “Over here. It’s Colton Landis.”
“OMG!”
Sable cringed. Fan number one’s squeal was nothing compared to Denise and her high-pitched screech.
“Dolly! Where did you find him?”
Twins. It had to be. Dolly wore the same pedal pushers and shirt though instead of green, it was an eye-searing neon pink. The women had the same short, round figures and teased out blonde hair. They even bounced from foot to foot with the same disarming twitchy rhythm. Sable hoped it was because they were excited. If they needed to pee, things might get messy.
“Sisters?” Colt asked, giving them his best movie star smile.
“Twins,” they answered jointly.
“You don’t say? My older brothers are twins.”
“We know.”
Sable wondered if they always spoke in stereo. Probably. A lifetime habit she doubted they noticed.
With easy grace, Colt accepted the pad and pen that Denise shoved in front of his face.
“Where are you from, Denise?” Colt’s smile went from heart pounding to dazzling.
When Colt said her name, it was almost too much for Denise. She fanned herself furiously and giggled.
Sable couldn’t blame her. She knew how it felt to be the focus of Colt’s attention. She was just an observer and her heartbeat had kicked up a couple of notches.
“Birmingham, Alabama,” Dolly answered. Denise tried to roll her tongue back into her mouth.
“Beautiful area. Most of Sinner’s Paradise was filmed there. What was it? Three years ago?”
“Four. We watched you film the duel.”
Colt handed them the autographed pad.
“Did you enjoy the movie?”
“We love all your movies. Colt.” Dolly drew out his name, savoring the moment. “Especially your nude scenes. May we get a picture?”
“I insist.” Colt took Dolly’s phone. “But I’m keeping my clothes on.”
As jokes went, it was lame, but Dolly and Denise laughed as if it were the funniest thing they had ever heard. Colt put an arm around each woman and somehow managed to take a selfie at the same time. He handed Dolly the phone. The sisters, still giggling, scampered off. They would have quite a tale to tell when they got home. All because Colt took the time to be charming and kind.
It wasn’t an act. Sable watched Colt as he dealt with the sisters. He loved every second. Not because his ego needed petting. Because he liked people. He loved his fans. He didn’t hurry them along. He took the time to make them feel special. They adored him before. Now, if Sable was any judge, they worshiped him.
The sisters started the ball rolling. It wasn’t a flood. More like a constant trickle. For the next hour, Colt greeted his fans. Signed autographs and posed for pictures.
Sable watched with growing admiration. Colt’s enthusiasm never flagged. He didn’t hurry them along or count heads, anticipating when he could get away. Each person was treated with the same courtesy and respect. She didn’t know how he did it.
“Miss?”
Sable turned. A man wearing a shirt with the store’s logo on the front stood to her left. The badge clipped to his shirt pocket read Ben Freedman, Manager.
“Yes?”
“I noticed you earlier. Aren’t you with Mr. Landis?”
“That’s right. Is this a problem?”
Sable motioned to Colt. There were three people still waiting for autographs. At one point, the line circled around the produce department and the canned foods aisle.
“Not for me.” Ben seemed a little uncomfortable. He gripped his hands together, squeezing tightly. “I should have broken it up right away. We get a lot of celebrities. We pride ourselves on giving them a stress-free shopping experience. A place where they can buy their groceries without being mobbed.”
“I can see why that would be appealing.”
“I was out for lunch when this started. I—”
“Mr. Freedman. Relax.” Sable gave the man a reassuring smile. “Look at him. Colt enjoys meeting his fans. No harm done.”
“I don’t want his mother to be upset.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“I, well,” he fidgeted. “She shops here and I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that.”
Sable hid her smile. Now, she understood. The manager had a crush on Callie Flynn. It was hard to hide and Ben Freedman had all the signs. The telltale flush. The way he stammered. He wasn’t worried about losing Callie’s business. He was worried he would miss out on seeing her, in the flesh, on a regular basis.
It didn’t matter if the name was Landis or Flynn. This family was like catnip to everyone they met.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Freedman. Callie understands. Besides, look at Colt. He’s having a great time.”
As though sensing her attention, Colt looked up from signing his last autograph. His blue eyes brimmed with good humor. When he winked, Sable felt it down to her toes.
The man wasn’t catnip. He was hundred-proof whiskey. Dangerous and highly addictive. A woman with an ounce of self-preservation would run for the hills. Sable had always been good at protecting herself. But she wondered if this time she may have met her match.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“THIS IS CRAZY.”
“Not crazy, practical. I won’t need another trip to the grocery store for a month.”
“Try a year.”
“These are staples.” Colt added a can of tuna fish to the cupboard. “Now when it’s three in the morning and I have a craving for water chestnuts, I’m all set.”
“Is that a problem you’ve run into? Desperate Chinese condiment cravings?”
“No. But it never hurts to be prepared.”
“Boy Scout,” Sable whispered under her breath.
“I heard that.” Colt spun her around. His kiss was sweet and playful. “I’ll finish putting these things away. Why don’t you pick some music? Something happy.”
“I can do that.”
Happy sounded good. Right. After Colt’s marathon autograph signing session, it took them another forty-five minutes to go through the checkout line, load the groceries into Colt’s car, drive to the loft, and lug the bags inside.
Seven bags. Filled to the top. Colt was flushed with success. Sable was amazed.
The success of her efforts to cut down on his purchases was debatable. True, there weren’t a dozen cans of Span—only two. And two boxes of Twinkies. And two bags of salted in-shell peanuts. Sable had no idea when Colt had acquired those. Or why he would want them.
Two of everything. Colt Landis. The Custom Foods Noah. Sable grinned, listening to him hum as he stocked his kitchen shelves. She wouldn’t worry unless he began plans for an ark.
Colt’s iPod was hooked up to a state of the art sound system. The bells and whistles would be intimidating to the un
initiated, but Sable had plenty of experience with high-end electronics. Her bosses at H&W were techno-geeks. They were constantly updating anything and everything. If she wasn’t savvy before she joined the company, she soon was. Or went crazy. Luckily for Sable, she was a fast learner. She scrolled through several playlists, the titles making her laugh.
Most began with Songs For. Songs for a rainy day. Songs for chilling out. Exercising. Dinner party. Seduction. The last one made her pause.
“You need mood music to get a woman into bed?”
“Goddamn, Garrett. He put that on there as a joke. I delete it, but it keeps popping back.”
Amused, and intrigued, Sable looked at the titles.
I Changed Her Oil, She Changed My Life. I Wanna Whip Your Cow. I’ve Got the Hungries For Your Love and I’m Waiting In Your Welfare Line.
“These can’t be real.”
“They are. Play one.”
It was a tough choice. In the end, Sable closed her eyes and did a musical version of pin the tail on the donkey. Her pin hit Bridge Washed Out, I Can’t Swim and My Baby’s On the Other Side.
“That might be the god-awfullest song ever recorded.”
“At least one of the top five. The rest of the contenders are on that list.”
“Garrett had way too much time on his hands. Tell him to get a hobby.”
“Tormenting his brothers is his hobby. Want a glass of wine?”
Sable glanced over her shoulder. Colt held up two bottles. One red, one white.
“White, please.”
Colt opened a drawer. He rummaged around until he found the corkscrew then deftly opened the bottle.
“These days Jade fills up most of Garrett’s free time. But he hasn’t given up completely. Last week I received an email inviting me to join the next cast of Dancing with the Stars.”
“Was it fake?”
“Completely legit.” Colt joined her, two glasses in hand. “Garrett had his agent contact the show’s producers.”
“Were they pissed off when you turned them down?”
“Who said I turned them down?”
Dreaming Of Your Love (Hollywood Legends #3) Page 16
