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“This is fun,” he calls to me. “Just so you know, I’ve never bought a woman shoes before.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“No, I’m being serious. The women I end up with want the big-ticket stuff. They wouldn’t be caught dead in here.” He stares at me from down the aisle. “I like this place.”
I can’t read his expression, and after a moment, Mase resumes his search. Finally, he returns with arms full of boxes.
White, patent leather boots with a platform sole that reach mid calf. Dark red Doc Martens wannabe boots. Pink running shoes with memory foam. Green satin heels, and finally, a pair of black and white Mary Janes with a chunky two-inch heel that I might just wear.
“That’s enough,” I say as he stacks the boxes on the floor before me.
“It’s never enough. But it’s a good start.”
“Is that your motto? Never enough.”
Instantly, his easy smile transforms into an angry scowl, so abrupt I shrink back with shock. “No,” he growls. “It’s my grandfather’s. He’s never satisfied with what he has, always wants more. It’s never enough for him.”
“But you’re not him,” I remind him in a soft voice.
“I hope I never get to be like him.” He gives his head a shake, sluicing off his black mood, and, kneeling before me, pulls off my shoe.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to get them back on,” I warn because I can’t begin to fathom that Mase Stirling is kneeling before me with my shoe in his hand. “They’ll swell up like little sausages.”
“Cute little sausages.” Taking my tired, dirty foot in both hands, Mase presses his thumb into the ball of my foot and I—
Igroan.
“Ah.” Mase raises an eyebrow and, along with the dimple, it gives him a rakish look. “That’s what turns you on.”
“Yes, please,” I moan. “Don’t stop.”
“I’ll rub your feet with every pair you try on.”
“We’ll be here all night.”
“It’s already morning.”
I stop after the five pairs, but then Mase insists I shouldn’t wear my old flats and finds me a navy, snakeskin pair that are surprisingly comfortable. Still, I hobble out of the store after him, arguing that I can carry my own shoes.
He bought six pairs. Mase Stirling bought me six pairs of shoes and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
Maybe I didn’t really want to.
We wander down the nearly empty mall and, once again, he holds my hand.
Mase
Carryingthebagofshoes, I push a laughing Fiona into the next store, which has a variety of hats on display. “I get to pick out something for you now,” she insists.
“Do your worst,” I invite. It’s fun to watch her flit around the tiny store, especially when she recruits the help of the surprisingly wide-awake guy behind the cash register.
I pull myself up onto the counter. Things are a bit off-balance, so I hug the bag for stability. I suspect I’m a bit drunk, possibly more than a bit, but it doesn’t seem to be a problem.
Nothing seems to be a problem tonight.
“You need something, too,” I call to Fiona.
“What do you think of this?” She steps into my line of sight wearing a straw hat with a floppy brim and a circle of cheerful flowers.
