“Killjoy.”
“Priorities. Your toes will thank me when you get to Buffalo. And if anything, you’ll only be attracting attention by wearing shades here. There’s about four hours of broad daylight in this part of the country in December. And it’s not exactly full spectrum.”
“You’re truly a ray of sunshine, Gellman.” His droll delivery, plus her growling stomach, made her patience short.
“Fine. Buy a pair. But from there.” She jabbed a finger at the brightly-lit store across the way.
“Abes-R-Us?”
He’d obviously never heard of it, because obviously being caught dead shopping there was beneath him.
“Abes, as in Lincoln? Everything is five dollars and under.” She fished in her crossbody bag for a bill. “And I bet if you sweet talk that cashier, she’ll throw in more than Twizzlers and a quart of oil.”
“That wasn’t – you mean back in Kismet?” he shook his shaggy locks. “You read that situation all wrong. She gave me the oil because I’d boughtherthe candy when – never mind. You’re right. I don’t need any shades. And…thank you. Preemptively. For thinking of better footwear.”
She waited to see if he planned to deliver a smart-ass punchline, but none came, so she nodded.
Whether he was sincere or had just wanted to evade being forced to don cheap fashion eyewear, she felt she needed to have last crack. “You’re welcome. Avigdor.” He gave her an elbow jab. “What? I figure we could use that for your alias.”
“I’d rather you not.”
They settled on some sturdy work boots – and dry socks – from a reputable, but certainly not high-end, department store. Understated enough for both Avi and her wallet to tolerate. Waterproofing thrown in for free, and not due to any sweet talk from anyone.
“You’ll give me your digits? Later?”
It took Leah a minute to realize he was askingherand not flirting with the sales help. “Yeah, sure.”
They must’ve hit some alternate parallel universe, one where a rock star like Avi Wolfson would ever ask for her digits. Or her advice on how he looked in his new boots (damn fine) or what flavor bubble tea she wanted (with her five bucks.)
“I’ll pay you back,” he promised. “After I catch up to the bus in Buffalo, I’ll send my share of this whole leg of the trip. Your number is already in my phone since I tried calling mine from yours. The money will be back in your account before I hit the stage.”
Hit the stage.All teasing aside, the man was a legit big deal. Big in Japan…and probably in Ashtabula or wherever the heck this mall was in Ohio. And had bigger obligations than some silly bucket list.
“Speaking of Buffalo…” She pulled the hat from her crossbody bag. “A little impulse purchase to help you blend in.”
He sputtered a laugh. “Singers don’t wear their own freaking band merch.”
“Exactly. Because how dorky would that be? Perfect disguise.”
“Okay, now you’re just fucking with me.”
But he mashed the hat over his shaggy, matted waves just the same. “Happy?”
“Hungry. The food court is that way.”
While Avi ordered a taro tea with extra boba, Leah sidled up to him, juggling little clear plastic cups in her palms.
“More where this came from,” she murmured, handing over the food court samples, each with their own little toothpick delivery devices. “I’m going to hit up the Greek and Thai places and will meet you at a table.”
He watched in amusement as she proceeded to meander past the workers, hawking samples of their cuisines. In her cute little puffer coat and pompom hat, she looked like your typical suburban female out for a day of retail therapy. Smiles andbanter he couldn’t hear, followed by a gesture in his general direction and a nod of thanks. In the end, she was rewarded with two of everything and came to the table with her bounty.
“Ask, and you shall receive.” She shed her coat and hat, then unbuttoned the boxy sweater that had been cinched up to her chin. Avi almost choked on a boba.
Who knew she was hiding collarbones like that – with a delicate filigree tattoo peeking out from a low-cut V-neck?
She caught him looking and glanced down. The baby blue shirt she wore proclaimed DON’T TOUCH MY RACK in bold, dark font. “It’s a Mahjong thing,” she quickly explained. “You know, racks hold the tiles?”
“Whatever you say, Gellman.”
