She gave me a smile with wild hunt mischief in it.
“Come on. Give.” Cheryl made a grab for the skirt, but I stepped out of reach.
“Hold on, handsy. I want to see it. Especially if I’m going to be collecting shin bruises for the next decade.”
“Both shins.” She did a little double kick. I laughed and finally looked in the mirror.
I saw joy, and it stopped me cold.
I had wanted the dress because it made me think of Ryder, of us together, of softer, easier times. It made me think about our future, the one we still hadn’t found the time to talk about.
Marriage,I thought, looking at the white of the skirt, soft and delicate.Rings, vows, and then a life.One not defined by gods or monsters or duty or jobs. One defined by us.
Relationships didn’t come with road maps. Didn’t come with rules. If we…
—exchanged rings, exchanged vows—
…really talked about things, really decided to stay together for the long run—whatever that meant to both of us—then we were stepping off into uncharted waters.
“It’s too much,” I said.
“Okay, it’s okay. Just change out of it. No problem.”
“Why are you being nice all of a sudden?”
“I’ve been nice the entire time. I even offered you booze. You are too suspicious for your own good, Delaney Reed.”
“Yeah, well, it comes with the job. Do you know how many trickster gods are in this town?”
She just laughed her summer laugh and waved me back into the dressing room.
“A lot,” I said as she pushed against the door while I leaned on it, both of us not really trying to win. “Too many!”
“Oh, like you’d have it any other way!”
“I would.”
“You’d be bored.”
Yeah, I would, but there was no way I was going to admit it.
The door clicked, and I got out of the dress, missing its softness once I was back in my sweaty uniform. I stepped out of the dressing room.
“You have a great shop.”
She glanced at my hand. “Did you decide on the sweater?”
“And the pants.”
She took both from me to ring them up. “It will be just one minute, if you want to browse. My reader’s slow today.”
She frowned at her credit card machine and punched buttons. I left her to it and wandered the shop.
I found myself staring at the wet suit wondering if I could dare Jean into wearing it during the High Tea Tide. She’d do it, if there was something she really wanted on the line.
“There we go,” she finally said. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting. I know you have that dinner with Ryder tonight.” She handed me my card, a receipt, and a reused, clean paper bag. The good kind with handles.
Huh.
