I remain standing there holding the boots while my brain desperately tries to recover from the fact that Lila just made a joke about my foot size in the middle of a sporting goods store.
Naturally, the academic part of my brain immediately wants to point out the complete lack of scientific correlation between foot size and other anatomical measurements. But something tells me explaining statistical myths out loud would make this entire interaction catastrophically worse.
Lila watches me struggle through this realization with open amusement.
“Oh my God,” she says, laughing softly. “You were actually about to give me a scientific rebuttal, weren’t you?”
“No,” I lie immediately.
“You absolutely were.” Her grin widens triumphantly.
I sigh and head toward the sock display before I embarrass myself further.
Behind me, Lila calls out casually, “For the record, Professor, I wasn’t complaining.”
I nearly walk directly into a rack of camping lanterns. “I'll just go try these on,” I manage, retreating toward a nearby bench.
As I sit down to remove my damaged oxfords, I catch her watching me with that same amused expression. I lace them up, feeling strangely like I'm preparing for battle. When I stand, thedifference is immediate. My feet feel planted, secure against the floor.
“How do they feel?” Lila asks, arms crossed as she surveys me.
“Different,” I admit, taking a few steps. “But good, I think.”
“Walk around a bit. Make sure they don't pinch anywhere. We'll be spending hours on our feet.”
I pace the aisle, aware of her attention tracking me. The boots thud against the floor in a way that feels oddly satisfying, and I find myself standing a little straighter.
As I turn again, something shifts in my peripheral vision. I glance toward the women’s section and catch three women huddled together, clearly focused in my direction. The moment they realize I’ve noticed, they scatter into a display of hiking pants, though their whispered conversation doesn’t stop.
One of them—a blonde in a North Face jacket—keeps sneaking glances my way. Her friend nudges her, and they both stifle a laugh.
Are they looking at me?
I turn back to Lila, suddenly aware of every inch of myself. “I think these boots work fine,” I add, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched.
“Good.” She studies me for a second, head tilting. “What’s wrong? You look uncomfortable.”
“Nothing,” I mutter, though I can’t stop myself from glancing back. The blonde is staring outright now, offering a small smile when our gazes meet.
Lila follows my gaze, her eyebrows rising. “Well, look at that. Seems like your new look has some admirers.”
“That's ridiculous,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, another woman passing by slows her pace, giving me a lingering once-over.
“A good ass in nice jeans tends to have that effect in places like this. Just think of what would happen if you threw on a cowboy hat. You’d have your pick of any lady in town, married or otherwise.”
“Oh my god, no,” I stutter, horrified at the suggestion. “I am not wearing a cowboy hat.” The very thought makes me want to crawl back into the changing room and barricade the door.
Lila laughs, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Relax, Professor. I'm just messing with you.” She glances at the group of women again, a strange expression flickering across her face before she turns back to me. “You should go over and introduce yourself.”
My lips form a thin line. “Can we just...” I gesture vaguely toward the checkout counter, desperate to escape this unexpected and unwanted attention. “I think I have everything I need.”
“Almost.” Lila grabs a waterproof jacket from a nearby rack and tosses it at me. “One more thing. Rain gear.”
I catch the jacket against my chest, grateful for the distraction. “Right. Of course.”
As we make our way to the checkout, I can't help but notice the blonde woman is now actively trying to position herself in our path. I fix my gaze firmly on the floor, but it doesn't help.
“Excuse me,” she says as we approach, her voice sweet and deliberate. “I couldn't help but notice you two, are you storm chasers?”
