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“Yes. I am the queen of window shopping,” she declared as we made it onto the street—familiarly noisy, the scents of street food meeting our noses, making Avery let out a groan as she pressed a hand to her belly.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because my bank account doesn’t allow me to go actual shopping with any sort of regularity, so I have learned to be content with the fantasy of ownership,” she declared, smiling, even as she declared something so fundamentally sad.
I’d never struggled in my life.
My father made good money.
I made good money.
There was never a time when I worried about my bank account or said that I couldn’t buy something when I wanted it.
Hell, the Brownstone had been a sudden multi-million-dollar decision. And I still had enough money to be comfortable.
How disappointing it must have been to constantly walk around, looking at shit that you knew you wouldn’t be able to have.
I made up my mind to buy whatever the fuck she looked at. At least until she really put her foot down about it. And even then, I would note shit to pick up later to get her.
“I don’t think you understand the whole window shopping thing,” she said after the second store when I’d gone in to grab the necklace she’d pointed out. Nothing fancy. Just some trinket style of jewelry made out of little clay peonies. But she’d fucking lit up when I gave it to her.
“I just think the buying and having part is better,” I said, pressing a hand to her lower back as we kept walking. It didn’t escape me that she started getting slower and more stilted with each block. “Let me guess,” I said, looking down at her feet. “Those hurt like a motherfucker.”
“I even tried to use the stupid anti-chafing stuff. It’s not working. I can power through,” she said. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
Fuck.
That sounded right.
Home.
Her seeing it that way.
I wouldn’t pretend to understand the why’s of this situation. Why this was the right time. Why she was the right woman.
I just knew she was.
That this was going somewhere.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said, turning, and hailing a cab. “Saks,” I called to the driver as Avery gave me a pinched brow look.
Instead of saying anything, I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, and resting my head on hers. A move that, luckily, had her forgetting about any possible objections.
Until I was leading her into the shoe department and pressing her into one of the chairs.
“Can I help you with something?” the young sales lady asked, giving me a bit too warm of a smile considering I’d come in with a woman.
“Yes. Whatever your most comfortable heels are, can you bring some for her to try on?” I asked, watching as the woman’s gaze went to Avery’s shoes, likely taking in the fake leather, the box store quality of them. But at least she had the grace not to wrinkle her nose at them.
“Of course. What size?”
“Nine,” Avery said, looking a little shellshocked before I came to drop down next to her. “Emilio, no,” she said, voice serious.
“Avery, yes,” I said back in the same tone, lips twitching.
“This is not a twenty-dollar necklace or a little figurine,” she said.
“Nope. They’re shoes,” I agreed.
To that, she rolled her eyes at me, and I just barely resisted the urge to kiss her right there in front of the crowd of shoppers around.
“They’re too expensive is what I am saying,” she insisted.
“They’re not,” I disagreed.
“Emilio…”
“Avery…”
“Stop,” she said, smile breaking out.
“Hey, I’m just matching your tone,” I said, shrugging it off. “Keep being difficult about this, and you’re gonna walk out of here with a pair of every shoe in the place.”
And I wasn’t exaggerating.
And, what’s more, she seemed to pick up on that.
“You’re taking them out of my paycheck,” she said, sitting back, mind made up.
“I am not,” I countered.
“Listen…” she started, patience strained.
“No, baby, you listen for a second,” I said, voice soft as my hand landed on her knee. “I get that this is complicated, you know, with everything,” I said, waving a hand in a little circle, meaning our situation. “But this isn’t work right now. If I want to buy you something, it has nothing to do with work, and it’s only going to make it weird to bring up your paycheck,” I reasoned. To that, her gaze moved away, but she was nodding, seeing the logic there.
“I have the money. I want to spend some on you. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. Okay?” I asked, giving her knee a squeeze.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“It’s not lost on me that this seems… new to you,” I added.
“My last boyfriend bought me a dollar store teddy bear once,” she said. “That was the only thing I think I’ve ever gotten from a guy. Oh, unless paying for, you know, fast food counts.”
