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“Now, then,” the woman said, turning to me. I had no choice but to retrace my steps and return to Rosabel’s side. “I’m guessing your grandmother is a woman of class.”
“She is,” I said, casting aside my reluctance.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Rosabel had a point—Grandmother would probably like many of the hats in here. At least Rosabel was able to keep her head right now. That was more than I could say for myself.
“Do you have something that might go with just about anything?” I asked.
“But of course.” The shop owner slid with grace toward the store’s center.
I did my best to follow, to not let my gaze or attention trail to Wesley. I didn’t like that we’d run into him here.
He hadn’t signed The Pact, so there was a good chance that Ulrich didn’t have anything on him, but I still didn’t like the fact that he might be watching Eureka Springs.
What if he did have eyes and ears somewhere in this town after all?
First bumping into Eudora and now Wesley? I wanted to get out of here, to whisk her away to the lake house and never leave again.
“Do you make these?” Rosabel’s faint voice pulled me back into the present moment.
I needed to stop worrying so much. I was freaking out over nothing.
Or so I told myself.
“Oui, I do. It’s a family trade.”
She reached for a caramel-colored wool hat distinguished by a black side bow. A gauze veil drifted from the front brim, notlong enough or thick enough to really conceal anything. Clearly, its purpose was to tease.
“This is perfect,” the woman said. “The wide brim will suit her for any occasion.”
“I agree,” Rosabel said, casting a grin at me. “His grandma will love it.”
I had no objections. If Rosabel loved it so much, then it was the one.
“We’ll take it,” I said. “And that cloche one as well.”
Rosabel gaped at me. “What? No.”
“I insist.”
Her eyes narrowed as though she were trying to figure me out. I couldn’t blame her. But we weren’t leaving this shop without that hat for her, too, not after the way her eyes had lit up when she’d seen herself in it.
“You will be the belle of any ball in that hat; c’est tres jolie.”
The shopkeeper rang up the hats as Wesley appeared from the back room. He and his mother had a rhythm, and I guessed this was normal for them. She rang up the purchases—he prepped the inventory.
“Looks like you found a good one,” he said, reaching for Rosabel’s gray hat.
His mother stilled him with a hand on his wrist. Wesley glanced at her, but she was smiling at Rosabel.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wear it out?” she asked.
“Really?” She turned to me.
Like she needed my permission.
I gave her a little shrug. It was up to her.
Decision settled over her gaze at once. She chewed her lip, considering, and then gave a little nod. “You know what? Why not?”
