Butterface

Once they finally made it through the twisting line and got their cannoli, he had to admit it was pretty amazing. Just not as amazing as watching the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about practically have an orgasm in front of him after taking her first bite.

Up until that moment, he hadn’t realized he could be jealous of a pastry—but he was.

…

Going to the grocery store with a guy was weird. Gina had to walk slower, listening to her latest audiobook was verboten, and going through the tampon aisle was…awkward. Still, she’d never had a better time tapping melons—not a euphemism.

“Have you really never bought a cantaloupe?” she asked.

Ford shook his head and knocked on the melons as if he was executing a search warrant. “Never.”

She took the fruit from him before he busted it in the middle of the produce section. “Then what’s in your fruit bowl?”

“If I had one?” He scrunched up his face as if he were really pondering it. “Junk mail.”

Could he have given any more of a dude answer? No, he couldn’t. “And yet, you seem like such a normal person.”

“My hours can be unpredictable, so I do a lot of takeout.” He pushed the cart a few feet to the pineapples, giving them a suspicious once-over. “Speaking of which, the captain asked me to come in tomorrow.”

“That’s good, right?” she asked, almost sounding convincing.

His suspension was T-minus a few days away from being over. Not that she was counting the hours down. The happy home renovations while playing house time had to end at some time. The clock was always clicking down with them—something she couldn’t afford to forget.

Someone cleared his throat behind her.

“If that means you’ll be keeping better company, Gina, it sure does.”

Shit. Gina flinched. She knew that voice. She turned to see Paul standing there with a basket of Roma tomatoes, a large bulb of garlic in his hand, and a scowl on his face directed at Ford.

Her brother puffed up his chest and kept his focus on Ford even as he addressed her. “This guy bothering you, sis?”

She had officially had enough. Turning to Ford, she pasted her best please-play-along smile on her face. “Do you mind going to grab the eggs for me?”

He didn’t look happy about it, but he swallowed whatever he’d been planning to say to her brother and dipped his head down to plant a kiss on her cheek before heading off in the direction of the eggs.

She waited for him to clear the produce area and spun around, hands on her hips, to confront her brother. “Really, Paul? What is your problem?”

“I don’t trust him.”

She bristled at the unspoken reason for that. “Why, because he’s spending time with me and who in their right mind would do that?”

That got Paul’s attention. He blinked at her as if his brain was trying to catch up with her verbal left turn. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

She snorted. “I don’t have to when they’re written all over your face.”

It was the same look of surprised disbelief, followed by an almost-verbal curiousness about how in the world she and Ford had ended up together—the sexy cop and the woman with the schnoz.

“He’s a cop,” Paul said, sputtering just enough for her to know that hadn’t been his first thought.

“Yeah, well you and Rocco are the only ones still up to your neck in the old family business, so I’m not worrying about it. Maybe being around him will get you two knuckleheads to finally see the light and move to that island you’re always talking about.”

“We’re thinking about it, but we’re both a little young for retirement.” Paul cracked a smile, the same one that had always cheered her after a bad day dealing with people saying shitty things about her.

Her anger abated enough for her own lips to curl up before the reality of what he’d said hit her. Damn it. She wasn’t going to encourage this nonsense. “Yeah, well in your line of business, there’s no guarantee you’ll get any older.”

He glared at her. She shot him a dirty look right back. Other shoppers avoided them.

Finally, Paul leaned down, a deceptively goofy look on his face as he asked, “Why are we fighting, sis?”