“Will there beanythingelse?” the shopkeeper, Cynthia, asks beside me. Even as she does, her fingers are still busy, adjusting hems here and there as she turns me in the mirror. “You look wonderful in this dress. I knew you would.”
“Thank you,” I say, shocked to find myself not wanting to disagree. “You think the color is flattering?”
“It’s made for you, although with a husband that has that kind of money, anything can be made for you,” she says with a laugh. “Especially when he looks at you like you hung the moon.”
I frown. “Why do you say that?”
“The way he looks at you?” she says again. “I know a man who is smitten with his wife when I come across one and that one…” She smiles. “Wait until he sees you.”
“You think he’ll like it?”
“Oh, bless your heart, you are sweet, aren’t you?” she says, patting me gently on the arm. “Yes, he will. Although…if you really want him wrapped around your little finger…”
She disappears and then comes back with a small shining gold pot and a delicate matching brush. “You can have this rouge. I haven’t even opened it yet.” She twists the top off to reveal a rich red cream. “Here.” Cynthia runs the brush through the red and reaches up to carefully paint my lips with it, turning them a vibrant scarlet.
I step closer to the mirror to get a better look, my eyes widening. “You’re sure he will like this?”
“For sure and for certain. Men can be very simple creatures.” She laughs again. “Little smile, little flutter of your eyelashes, and you’ll be their queen.”
She steps back, clearly admiring her work. “I can’t get you anything else? I think there’s still some money left over even after the dresses, the riding clothes, the undergarments, the coat, the boots…” She comes back to me and uses her fingers to curl a few pieces of hair away from my face, and I try tomemorize what she’s doing, storing it away for the future. She must see me watching, because she asks, “Didn’t your mother teach you any of these things?”
“No,” I admit. “She wasn’t really one to…”
She nods and gently pats my cheek. “Some mothers are like that. Unfortunately, the family we need isn’t always the one we’re born into.” She turns and starts gathering the large amount of bags and totes and hat boxes. “I’d say you’ve found your way into a good one, though.”
“You think?” I ask, beginning to feel badly that she’s been given the wrong impression when she’s been so kind. And that’s even before she says, “I do. Not only men that I can tell when they’re in love.”
She smiles at me, but my mind is already spinning. Am I in love with Cypress? What about with—
“You come back and visit me again, Cora. You hear?”
“I will,” I say, finally returning her smile and hoping I get to mean it. When she offers me back the remaining money, I wave her off. “You keep it.”
“Thank you. Maybe next time we can get your husband some new things as well,” she says, helping me to the door since I’m comically weighted down with purchases. “Never seen a man wear so much black.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, still thinking of the way Cypress said Aiden describes his clothes, but it’s a losing battle as I step out into the street and the first laugh breaks free. The rest unable to be contained until I’m fighting my way inside the cafe with my purchases. Well, reallyCypress’spurchases.
“There you are, little bird,” I hear him say as soon as I’m inside, already lifting bags from my arms so that I can breathe while the sounds of conversation and busy plates and utensils fill my ears. “I’m delighted to see you actually followed my advice.”
“I did,” I say, still smiling as I straighten and turn toward him.Not exactly a grand entrance, but at least he had no trouble knowing it was me. “Thank you again. I don’t know how I’ll…”
For the first time since I’ve met him, Cypress appears to be speechless. His eyes growing dark as they travel over every detail of my face then down my dress and back up before hanging for several long moments on my lips. Remembering the red, I clap my hand over my mouth before muttering, “Sorry, is it too much? Cynthia suggested it.”
He clears his throat and gently pries my hand away so he can see again. “Cynthia is the shopkeeper?”
“Yes.”
“And the rouge was her idea?”
“Yes. She said…she said you might like it.”
“Did she? I’m not sure I paid Cynthia enough.”
“Oh, no, there was money left over. But I let her keep it, since you said you didn’t want it back…” I start to grow restless under his gaze. “Do you not like it? You look…angry.”
He shakes his head. “Wrong emotion, little bird.” He swallows, dragging a hand over his face. “You didn’t happen to run into Aiden on the street?”
“No, why?”