Page 35 of On Circus Lane

A few seconds later, I pace around the store, admiring my feet. “They’re actually so soft and comfortable,” I marvel. “It’s like walking on air.”

“How are your blisters?” Tom asks, steering me around a rack of hats that I was just about to knock over.

“What blisters?”

He laughs. “Let’s get you some thick walking socks and a coat too.”

I groan. “Really? Can’t we just count this as a win and go and get more pancakes?”

“Nope.” He scans me with concerned eyes. “It’s going to get colder. They’re forecasting snow, and that jacket of yours isn’t fit for purpose.”

“I bought it to make me look good and make my eyes look pretty. I’d say it’s done its job.”

He stares at me intently, his hot expression making my pulse race. “Those pretty eyes don’t need any help,” he finally says.

He moves away, and I stare after him.Did he just say my eyes were pretty?I hasten to follow.

Twenty minutes later, we step outside the shop. “So, that was a successful shopping trip,” he says with satisfaction. “And we came in well under your budget.”

“And with a coat that I didn’t need to buy.”

“That’s debatable. Do you like it, though?”

I look down at the hooded black padded jacket I’m wearing. It’s super warm and windproof, but I don’t look like I’m wearing boiler lagging, and it doesn’t drown my small figure like most coats.

He’d picked it out as easily as the shoes, leaving me feeling a little discomposed. I lean into him, using my usual method to get back on solid footing with a man—shameless flirtation.

“I love it. Thank you,” I say, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I lick my lips. To seal the deal, I lace my arm in his, letting him feel the length of my body.His arm flexes and he smiles down at me. I take a second to congratulate myself on finally breaking his control.

“So, what now?” I try asking throatily. “Maybe we should go back to the flat.” I wink. “And see what comes up.”

Amusement flits across his face before he steers me along the pavement, handing me the carrier bag holding my old Converse and jacket. “Now we get you a couple of jumpers,” he says briskly. His eyes are twinkling as he surveys the street, and I wonder dazedly how I can get him to twinkle at me.

Then his words catch on. “Ohno,” I say, dismayed. “Not another shop.”

“Oh, but I think you’ll like this one.”

“Really? Is it a bookshop?”

“Well, no. They don’t tend to sell a lot of jumpers.”

“More fool them, then.” He leads me past a succession of shops selling everything from handmade chocolate to kilts. The man on the accordion has now switched to playing “Stop the Cavalry.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I say nervously. “I don’t think you’ll be successful with my clothes. I’m very picky.”

His eyebrow rises. “Oh really?” He waves a hand, indicating the shop behind me.

I turn, and my mouth drops open. It’s a vintage clothing shop. In the windows, the mannequins are dressed in the funky sort of style I like. Professorial, but mixed with a tight, slightly slutty edge. I can see three outfits I need already.

Tom’s expression is both knowing and affectionate—neither of which I’m sure I’ve earned in the short time he’s known me.

“You’re lethal,” I mutter.

He grins. “You havenoidea.”

He opens the door for me and takes my bags. I follow him into the shop, feeling like I’m steering the Titanic, and there are icebergs ahead with depths that might sink me. I smile faintlyas I imagine sharing a floating door on icy waters with Tom. I’d make sure there was lots of room for him, and he’d do his best to keep me warm?—

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