Page 24 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

“They’ve shown remarkable restraint so far.”

“They’re waiting for gravel.”

I looked toward the shoe display beneath the summer-clothing rack.

“Do you have anything sturdy that doesn’t look orthopedic?”

Mabel smiled.

“Now you’re asking the right question.”

She came around the counter and moved toward the shoe display. She asked no questions about who I was, why Jonah had brought me, or why my phone had sounded like a slot machine before I silenced it.

Mabel picked up a brown ankle boot with a block heel and thick tread. “What size?”

“Seven.”

She checked the box. “These are a seven and a half.”

“I’m a seven.”

“You’re also wearing stilettos on a mountain. We’re both making adjustments.”

I took the box from her and examined the boots. The leather was soft, the heel preserved some dignity, and the soles looked capable of defeating Jonah’s road.

“They’re not terrible.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s said about them.”

Jonah appeared at the end of the aisle with two bottles of water and a basket hooked over one arm. His faded-blue work shirt fit his shoulders so closely that the plain cotton made a poor case for modesty.

His green-brown eyes moved from the boot in my hand to my face.

“You found something?”

“I found a compromise.”

Mabel took the shoes from me. “She means she doesn’t hate them.”

“I understood.”

“You’re getting smug,” I said.

“I haven’t said enough to be smug.”

“That’s how you disguise it.”

Mabel pointed toward a narrow fitting room behind the clothing rack. “Try them on before you start diagnosing his facial expressions.”

“I’m not diagnosing him. I’m identifying a pattern.”

Jonah put the basket on the floor. “Is the pattern that I keep standing here?”

“The pattern is that you enjoy being correct.”

“Most people do.”

“Not with this much restraint.”