When it comes to Mallory, I am so fucked.
She emerges from the dressing room a few minutes later, flustered. The red has not faded from her cheeks. Not one bit.
"How did everything work out for you?" The saleswoman's saccharine voice cuts in.
"Good," Mallory says. "Mostly. I had a problem with a zipper, but, um"—her eyes laser in on me—"I worked it out."
The saleswoman's smile falters. "Oh no! I hope I didn't miss your distress signal."
Mallory looks at me again. "You didn't. I had a knight in shining armor."
The woman takes the stack of clothes from Mallory, marching to the register.
I can't help my smirk. "I'm a knight?"
Mallory holds up two fingers. "Two saves in fewer than twenty-four hours."
Together we walk to the register. "Let's hope there aren't any more ever again."
"I don't kn-ow," she warbles the last word. "I will definitely be needing help reaching things on top shelves. And if I see a spider, all bets are off. I'll be requiring the services of my knight, pronto."
My chest swells. My shoulders straighten. Perhaps I walk with a bit more swagger.
She called me her knight.
Herknight.
We reach the counter where the woman stands, ringing up Mallory's stack of clothing.
"One of these items is in very bad shape," she says, suspicious gaze darting between me and Mallory.
"That would be the zipper problem I had," Mallory says sheepishly.
"We have tools for zipper problems." The woman eyes me before returning her gaze to Mallory. "Looks like you had your own tool for solving yourzipper problem."
She says it in a way that's part amused, partI know what you did.
Mallory laughs, but it's not her real laugh. She thumbs at me. "He's not just a pretty face," she jokes.
Mallory hasn't caught on that the saleswoman thinks we got busy in the fitting room, and since her cheeks are still pink (adding to the evidence of our escapade) I'm not planning on telling her.
The saleswoman recites the total. I grab my wallet, brandishing my card before Mallory can say a word.
"What? Hugo. No."
"Too late." I shrug, and then there's the electronic sound of a payment accepted.
Mallory frowns. "I wasn't expecting that."
"I know you weren't." I take the two large bags off the counter, heading for the exit. "I made a lot of money fencing. First the gold medal, and then a lucrative cereal box brand deal, among others. I bought my car, and remodeled my house into a place that feels like home, and now there's nothing more I need. Really."
"Well, thank you. I'm not used to being around a person who does nice things so easily."
"That's too bad, Mallory. Because you deserve it."
She does. She really does. Mallory wants to solve my dad's murder. Her sister's, too. She's not here making money.
I hold open the door for her, and we step into the cool early evening. It's that odd time of year in the desert, when the day is warm but drops to chilly the moment the sun disappears. "How does a podcast make money?"
