Page 25 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

His mouth shifted at one corner.

Mabel handed me the box. “Take your shoes off before your ankles file for emancipation.”

The fitting room was barely wider than my shoulders, but it had a bench, a mirror, and a curtain that kept Jonah from accidentally witnessing anything I hadn’t invited him to see.

I sat and removed my stilettos.

Red marks circled both feet. The skin beneath the straps was tender, and my toes objected when I flexed them.

The boots slid on over a pair of socks Mabel passed beneath the curtain. They fit comfortably, though the extra half size gave me room I didn’t need.

I stood.

The block heels lifted me and didn’t threaten my life. The fitted shafts hugged my ankles, and the dark brown leather looked expensive from a reasonable distance.

I stepped out.

“They work,” he said.

“That isn’t a compliment.”

“They fit, and you can walk in them.”

“I can walk in the shoes I arrived in.”

“You can survive short distances in them.”

Mabel covered a laugh with a cough that fooled no one.

I crossed the store to test the boots. The soles held on the polished floor. Nothing pinched, shifted, or attempted murder.

“I’ll take them.”

Jonah reached for the basket again.

“I haven’t agreed that you’re buying anything,” I said.

“You don’t have access to your cards.”

“That’s temporary.”

“It’s still true.”

“I’m not accepting gifts from you.”

“I’m not offering one.”

Mabel looked between us. “Should I charge admission before this becomes a full performance?”

Jonah said, “You need shoes, clothes, toiletries, and food. Put the essentials on my account. You can repay me when you have access to your own money.”

“I want the receipt.”

“You’ll get one.”

“I want every item listed.”

“Mabel usually lists what she sells.”