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I hold up the sewing kit I always carry with me. “I think I even have a pretty pink color thread that will match it perfectly.”
“I don’t have anything to pay you with,” she says, a hint of fear in her voice. I want to kill whatever person who told her she’d have to pay in some form in order to be worthy of help.
“I don’t charge for minor repairs on Sundays,” I explain.
She checks with Em one last time before stepping forward. “Don’t poke me with the needle.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, pulling the pink thread out along with a needle. “Keep your hand right there.”
I point to her chest so she’ll be able to maintain her modesty.
She jerks away from me when I get closer with the needle.
“How about this?” I say, backing away and grabbing one of the small paper plates I put out by the dessert trays. “Hold it just inside your dress. That way the needle won’t even have a chance to touch you.”
She situates the plate under the edge of her dress, and smiles as I fix the strap, giving it a few extra stitches in case of another mishap while she’s playing.
“Are you a fairy godmother?” Millie asks when I step back and she sees her dress is like new.
“No, but I’m always prepared for a fashion emergency.” I hold up my sewing kit once again, smiling when she does.
“Thank you,” she says before turning around and calling after the little boy she was playing with earlier.
“You said you weren’t good with kids,” Em says, a motherly smile on her face.
“I’m not. I’m good with clothes and sewing.”
“You replaced her tears with a smile. That’s being good with kids.”
I want to talk to her about the loan like I did with Emmett, hoping to get a more educated response, but I know now isn’t the time.
“After the luncheon, Legacy is going to take you shopping for some clothes,” Em says. Her tone doesn’t leave much room for argument.
Spending more time with him, especially if he’s going to look at me the way I caught him looking at my legs, isn’t such a bad thing. The way he made me feel is something I think I could easily grow addicted to.
Chapter 12
Legacy
I hate the way I stared at the front of the shelter, my eyes focusing on the windows each time a shadow passed in front of them. I felt like a creep, like a stalker of one of the women inside, as I waited for the lunch to end and for Devyn to come back outside.
I almost left to just drive around the block, but I was afraid she’d step outside and I wouldn’t be there. As much as I don’t want to be involved in the physical shopping, I don’t want anyone else to take her either.
God, if she buys more dresses like the one she’s wearing today, I may have to vocalize my opinion. What kind of asshole does that make me, thinking I have any kind of right to dictate what a woman wears?
I lift my chin as the front door opens, settling on the decision that I’ll just knock the lights out of every guy who looks at her in a certain way, knowing I’ll probably have to start with Stormy’s ass first.
The fabric of that sinful dress swirls in the breeze, teasing me with the idea that it might lift high enough to see her…
I shake my head, doing my best to shove thoughts like that away.
I turn my eyes forward as she opens the passenger side door. It hits me that instead of gawking at her, I probably should’ve climbed out and opened the damn door for her.
Instead of saying a word, she busies herself with switching the Bluetooth over to her phone, pulling up a map that immediately instructs me to turn right out of the parking lot.
I tilt my head, mildly annoyed, but realize just as quickly that I can’t exactly expect her to act the way I think she should. Which, honestly, is a jumble of half-illicit situations in my head I have no business thinking.
“Em says you’re taking me shopping,” she says, pointing to the map on the screen when I don’t shift the SUV into drive. “This is where I’d like to go. They’re one of the few places in town open today.”
I nod, grateful I’m not going to have to argue with her like I thought I might have to.
The area of town grows less and less desirable with each block I drive. I’m less than impressed with where we end up when the map declares I’ve entered the parking lot for my destination.
“Really?” I ask, incapable of hiding the derision in my voice.
“Don’t be a snob,” she says, excitement lacing her tone.
