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“Perfect.”
“I’m finding lots for you.”
“I’m afraid.”
Fiona laughs. “You should be.”
She has an incredible laugh. Her smile is pretty great too, but the laugh makes me smile. I want to hear it all the time.
“Where do you live?” I ask her.
“Toronto,” she says scornfully, ducking behind a hat stand. “Where did you think?”
“You could live anywhere. You could have grown up with Bexley and then moved half way across the world to Australia and only came back because she guilted you into coming to her engagement party.”
“Bexley wouldn’t have to guilt me into that.”
“Bribe you with a fully paid trip and a flight in a private plane.”
“That was a nice perk. Thank you very much.” She’s back in my view as she dips into a curtsy, hat brim blocking her face.
I respond with a theatrical bow and almost fall off the counter. “My greatest pleasure.”
“To spend money on your friends?”
“That, and to help the course of true love.”
“You’re joking.”
“Why would I joke about love?”
“Because I’m—” —she thumps her chest— “the biggest romantic there is. I love all the novels and the movies and the happily ever afters. I’m sure you found that during your reconnaissance.”
“Actually, no one said much about you, other than I wasn’t to touch.”
“Touch—me?” She frowns. “They actually told you to stay away? They said those words?”
“Pretty much.” There’s no way I’m telling her about the texts from Grayson and Bexley. She was polite and said things aboutheartbreakandbad choices,but Grayson outright told me Fiona couldn’t handle a guy like me. However they worded it, neither think I’m good enough for her. And now that I’ve gotten to know Fiona, I see they were right.
Only now, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stay away. I’ve stopped myself from kissing her three times already. If I’d been sober, it would have been easier to talk myself into it—if that’s what she wanted.
I like to think she might. Want me to kiss her, that is.
Fiona steps out from behind a display with the floppy hat still on her head and a bunch of others in her hand. “I can look after myself,” she announces, sounding like a little girl wanting to stay up late.
“I’ve no doubt you can. Does me telling you that make me seem more attractive?”
Fiona laughs as she saunters back to the counter. The brim of the hat covers her eyes, but I can see the curve of her mouth, still miraculously covered in red lipstick. “No comment.”
“Oh, c’mon!” She’s still smiling as she reaches the counter, and instinctively, I spread my legs to remove the barrier of my knees. Her lips are red, but dull, not shiny. And not stained or smudged.
Fiona put on lipstick, right here in the store. The realization puffs my chest like a cocky rooster. She put on lipstick for me.
“I found you a hat.” She brushes my thigh as she places three hats on the counter beside me. On purpose or by accident?
I fold up the brim on the floppy hat so I can see her face. “Looks like you found a couple.”
“I did. First is...” She reaches up to plunk a fedora on my head.
