Page 36 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“Make you do a fashion show? Absolutely.” I set the boxes down. “We’ll start at the top and work our way to the bottom.”

Eleanor makes no move to get up, settling her hands in her lap with an almost chastising smile. “Luke.”

“Eleanor.”

She’s got another thing coming if she thinks I’m backing down.

“I’m just trying to give you the full Austinite experience. Is this where you draw the line?” I taunt, placing my hands on my hips. “You can’t be a local without boots.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her annoyance with me. She’s playing it up, her resistance to me. Now it’s a little game, a push and a pull. And I love it. “Fine, I guess I’ll do it.” She opens the first box, the brown boot. “Do these boots come with a Texas twang?” she asks, holding up one boot into the light.

“Afraid not, but stick with me kid, and you can’t fail,” I reply.

Eleanor giggles.

That laugh. Oh, that laugh. I wish I could bottle it up and keep it for the times I’m apart from her. When I’m feeling down or troubled. So much better than the occasional text message or the mere memory. That laugh sustains me. It’s always genuine and earned. Doesn’t come from a place of obligation. Seems to take over her entire body each time it happens.

I need to appreciate it while I have her here. Lord knows if today is going to tip the scale whatsoever, I need to show Eleanor that the past few weeks haven’t been a waste just because we’ve come to a sad conclusion in our search.

“Alright, come on, cowgirl,” I say. “Put on a show for me, huh?”

Eleanor puts on the first pair of boots and gets to her feet. I take her seat so I can take her in and admire the curve of her olive toned legs as they dip into the boot’s leather. She stands in front of a mirror and twists her feet side to side as she looks at all angles of the boots. “Looks kind of silly while I’m wearing shorts.”

Silly would not be the word I would use. Sexy fits much better. “We wear cowboy boots all year round,” I say. “They only look silly to you because you’re—”

“I know, I know.” She throws a narrow-eyed smile over her shoulder at me. “I’m a northerner.”

I grin. “Now you’re catching on.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to wearing things like these, though.”

I shrug. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, if I have anything to do with it, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to wear boots like that.”

She admires the boots in the mirror a bit longer. “What’s the price on these?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say.

Eleanor frowns, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Luke . . .”

I say nothing.

She turns, lunging for the box, but I pull it out of reach. Eleanor reaches across me to grab the box, resting her hand on my thigh. She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me. “Luke!”

“I said don’t worry about it! My treat.”

“This isn’t lunch or drinks or ice cream, Luke!” She continues to fight to grab the box, but I keep up a barricade of my arm, wrapping one hand around her bicep so if she tried to come at me from a different direction, I could yank her back into place.

On my lap. In my arms. Where she should be.

“These are boots!”

“Yeah, and?”

Eleanor huffs in frustration, then drops onto the bench beside me. I don’t get comfortable with her submission. I know she’s the bait-and-switch type. I don’t let down my guard while she glowers at me.

“Let me buy you a pair of boots, Eleanor,” I say.

“That’s ridiculous. They’re expensive. Hundreds of dollars!” she exclaims, gesturing around to the various aisles. “I can’t let you do that.”

---