“It was a last-minute decision.” Ashton gives me a covert wink. “Sophie decided she needed supplies.”
“You could invite her along,” I say under my breath as we leave. Ashton carries both drinks so I can use my hands for the crutches.
I didn’t really think this through. Maybe we should have stayed with Fenella and finished our coffee, but Ashton seemed eager to start shopping.
How excited can a man really be to go shopping?
He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”
“But she’s your friend,” I press.
“I’m friends with her friend. That does not make us friends.”
“You’re back to being grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy, I just don’t want anyone else tagging along. Maybe I just want to take you shopping.”
“But why?”
Ashton shakes his head with a little chuckle. “Are nice people always this clueless?”
I hit him on the shin with my crutch.
38
Ashton
WeheadstraighttoArthur’s Attire, because when I stopped here yesterday with Fifi, I might have seen a dress that would be perfect for Sophie.
I know I’m an abnormality—a man who enjoys shopping. But it’a true. There’s something about finding a shirt that brings out the colour of a woman’s eyes, or a skirt that enhances the curve of a hip.
There’s no way I could do this for a living, so I take my enjoyment shopping with my female friends. And my sister.
Fenella does not love shopping as much as I do. But she does like me picking out clothes for her, because I always make sure she looks good.
I vow to do the same for Sophie, although she doesn’t need much help.
She put on jeans today, and at first, I thought I’d miss the way her leggings hug her legs, but now seeing her in the jeans makes me revert to my original belief that no fashionable woman should be caught wearing leggings in public.
I’ve never said anything of the sort to Sophie, because her retort would be that she wasn’t fashionable to begin with, so who cares.
Arthur greets Sophie like an old friend, and I soon find out it’s because he’s a regular at the fish and chip restaurant where she works.
I haven’t thought about Sophie working for weeks.
And when I do, there’s no flash of guilt that I’m responsible for preventing her from work. No, I just think that no woman I’ve been involved with has had a job anything remotely like the manager of a fish and chip restaurant.
It’s a new one for me.
Everything about this thing is new—whatever this thing is.
“Are you looking for a dress for the dance?” Arthur, the elderly owner asks Sophie with a hopeful tone in his voice.
Sophie glances at me with a shrug. “Last chance to back out.”
“Nah. I’m good,” I tell her.
“Then, yes, here for a dress.”
