Must Be Wright (The Wrights 3)

“You shouldn’t put eggs down here. They’re gonna get smooshed.” Belle picked up the egg carton and offered it to Wyatt, then patted the area in front where young kids usually sat. “You should put them in there.”

Wyatt repositioned the eggs, took a deep breath, and sighed it out as he looked at the recipe for chicken fried steak on his cell phone. Breadcrumbs, flour, butter, milk, spices, steak— He pressed his forearms against the handle, feeling overwhelmed. Not by the grocery store, exactly, but by everything.

“If you were bread crumbs, where would you be?” The question had been more of a thought than a real question. Wyatt was rethinking the making-dinner part of this ordeal and ordering take out on the way back to Gypsy’s.

“I don’t know. Look on the app?”

Wyatt refocused on Belle. Her feet had come off the edge of the bottom rail and she was now nearly upside down in the cart, hair dangling through the holes in the wire bottom. “Jesus, Belle.” He grabbed a handful of her T-shirt and pulled her upright. “Your hair is going to get caught in the wheels.” Once she was upright, he asked, “What app?”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Give me your phone.”

Wyatt handed over his phone, and Belle walked beside the cart, tapping on the face while Wyatt tried to decipher the signs overhead and guess what else might be down any particular aisle.

“Here.”

He stopped walking and took the phone back. Belle slipped under his arm and popped up between him and the cart, facing forward and looking at his phone. “You just put the name of what you’re looking for in here and a green arrow will show up on the right aisle.”

“How do you know—”

“Mommy uses it. And this is the store we usually shop at.”

Wyatt typed in bread crumbs, and a little green arrow showed up halfway down an aisle three rows away.

“See?” she said, grinning.

“Damn, that’s impressive, monkey.”

She tapped the image on his phone with her finger, counting, “One, two, three. I’ll beat you there.”

Then she ran ahead and disappeared down an aisle. Wyatt didn’t like having her out of his sight, so he picked up his pace and followed. Midway down, Belle was dancing with containers of bread crumbs in both hands.

Wyatt sighed. He had one hell of a learning curve in his future. One that seemed like it went straight up for the next thirteen years.

God, thirteen years until she was an adult? That hit him like a mul

e kick and stole all Wyatt’s air. How in holy hell was he going to do this?

Three women wandered up the aisle the opposite direction. He immediately pegged them as tourists. Early to midtwenties, wearing short-shorts, revealing blouses, and cowgirl boots. Wyatt instinctively ducked his head and diligently studied his phone.

They giggled and chatted to each other as he passed. He almost got away. Almost.

“Oh my God, you guys,” one woman said in a hushed but high-pitched voice that made Wyatt cringe. “I think that’s Wyatt Jackson.”

A flurry of quiet chatter followed, then the click of heels sounded behind him, followed by an overly sweet “Excuse me.”

Damn. Wyatt exhaled and force a smile to face the woman. All three of them grew giddy, their gazes glittering with their find.

Wyatt kept one eye on Belle as he signed autographs for the women and, of course, they asked for selfies. By the time he’d moved on, Belle stood with a container of bread crumbs, a cocked hip, and an irritable expression.

“We’ve got bread crumbs,” he said, taking them from Belle and tossing them into the cart before glancing at the recipe. “How about steak?”

He was about to type in steak when his phone rang and his manager’s name showed up on the display.

He gestured for Belle to wait and answered the phone. “Aaron, can you hold on a sec?”

“Sure.”

Wyatt typed in steak, showed the image to Belle, who counted aisles and took off.