Rock Bottom (Dawson Family 6)

If there were no footprints, then it wasn’t a human at least. Which kind of freaked me out more at times, but I think I’d rather have a ghost spying on me than a real person who could kidnap and torture me.

Though that’s not to say an angry spirit couldn’t do the same…

Stretching my arms out over my head, I grab a sweater and pull it on. My hair is still in a messy bun from work, and I yank the band out, snapping a few strands of hair in the process. I quickly brush out the knots and then pull my hair into a braid over my shoulder.

Prepping myself to go out into the bitter cold, I put on a hat, scarf, and thick gloves.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” I tell Figaro. “Don’t wait up for me.” I shove my feet into boots, run back into the kitchen to get the reusable bag I almost forgot, and then go out into the cold.I was right. The grocery store is packed, and the shelves are picked over. I’m able to get enough to get me through the week at least, though my preferred French vanilla coffee creamer was gone. I put the last few things in my cart and head to the front of the store to check out.

Right as I’m pushing my cart out of an aisle, Dean walks past. I’ve done a good job the last few days not thinking about him, and I’ve accepted that what we had was nothing more than a one-night stand.

No feelings.

No strings.

No regrets.

And when Quinn texted me the day after she got sick at the gym, I hardly thought of Dean as well. Hardly. But then I was busy with family and now looking forward to Miami, and I’ve kept my mind occupied.

But seeing him now is making my heart skip a beat and I want to reach into my chest and slap that thing around. He’s a player and is good at the game.

I can’t have feelings for him.

Coming to a dead stop with a heavy shopping cart on a floor that’s slippery from melted snow is a bad idea. I lose my balance and the cart keeps going, jerking me forward. Dean probably wouldn’t have noticed me if I’d just walked like a normal person, but someone fumbling through the store gets pretty much everyone’s attention.

Dean catches my cart and stops me from falling flat on my face. I twist my arm as I break my fall, quickly straightening up and acting like nothing happened.

“Thanks,” I rush out, feeling blood rush to my cheeks. I sweep my eyes over Dean and blood rushes through the rest of me. He’s wearing dirty work boots and worn jeans, with flecks of paint or plaster on them. His Carhart jacket is unzipped, showing off the flannel shirt he has on. It’s day and night from the well-put-together Dean I’ve seen at the bar, and I’m really liking this grungy construction worker look.

“You have a tendency to do that.” He flashes a cheeky grin. “Good thing I’ve been around to catch you.”

Hah. I wish. We both know what would happen if I really fell, buddy.

“The floor is slippery.”

“Yeah, that tends to happen in the winter.” He eyes my cart. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who loses their shit whenever it snows.”

I raise my brows. “Oh, hell no. I told you I’m from up north. This little snowstorm is nothing.”

“I know you’re not from Canada,” he replies flatly.

“I used to live in Michigan.” I twist my fingers around the handle of the cart. “In a little town called Silver Ridge. Look it up if you want, it’s real.”

“I’ve heard of Silver Ridge.”

“Really? People in the next town over haven’t even heard of it.”

Dean shrugs. “Sam mentioned it.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you knew my brother. So see? I really am from Michigan.”

Dean steps to the side, moving out of the way of busy shoppers, who definitely are freaking out over the snow. “Though I am curious what else you made up.”

“Other than my name and being from Canada, nothing. Oh, my brother is in the FBI, not the Canadian police force.” I swallow hard, noticing bits of sawdust in Dean’s hair. Was he working on a construction site today? When he talked about taking tile samples to his office and meeting with clients, I assumed he stayed mostly behind a desk and acted more like the boss.

There’s something hot about a man who works with his hands.

“You really like archery?”

“Love it,” I say with a smile. “And I really am good at it.”

We stand there for a second, and my heart is beating faster and faster. I need to say something before the silence gets awkward and Dean walks away. Which is what he should do.