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“I bought shoes too. They’re by the front door. Oh, and shampoo and some other stuff.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. “I figured you’d want to smell girly instead of using my stuff.”

“I like how you smell,” I say without thinking.

His eyes lift to mine, and we both freeze for a beat.

“Good,” he says roughly.

I clear my throat. “Thanks for this. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“No need. I hope everything fits. If you don’t like something, we can return it.”

I nod, my fingers clenching around the handles of the bags.

“I’ll leave you to try everything on. We can go into town later, and I’ll show you around.”

I nod. “Okay.”

He smiles and leans in to kiss my forehead before moving toward the door.

When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed, and the tips of his ears are pink. “I’ll, uh, just be in the living room.”

The door clicks shut after him.

I stand there for a moment, pressing my fingers lightly to my forehead where he kissed me.

Then I take a deep breath and turn my attention to the clothes.

Everything fits perfectly. I’m impressed that he guessed my size correctly. I’m wearing one of the new outfits, a pair of dark jeans and a sweater that matches my eyes, as I leave the bedroom to find him in the living room.

He smiles when he sees me, his eyes darkening as they sweep over me. “You look amazing.”

I drop my gaze to the floor. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

The thing is, I know he means it. Pyrce seems to love taking care of me. He gets this satisfied little smile whenever I finish the food he makes, and he’s wearing the same expression now as he looks at me in the clothes he bought.

He’s just a good guy, Elsie. Don’t read too much into it. He’s not into you like that.

It’s too late, though. My brain has already wandered somewhere far more dangerous.

What would it be like if Pyrce was my boyfriend? My husband?

I can picture it far too easily. He’d pull out my chair, hold doors open, insist on cooking for me because feeding me seems to give him a weird amount of joy. He’d fuss over me when I was sick and make sure I never went without anything I needed.

He’d care for me.

Love me?

I shake my head before that thought can take root.

“Ready to go?” I ask.

He nods, pushing to his feet.

I follow him to the door, where he grabs my new shoes and bends to put them on for me.

“Oh, I can do it,” I protest.