Page 22 of Bronson

The smell drives me wild.

Ignoring my libido, I say, “This thing is huge. I look ridiculous.” The coat almost goes down to the floor. The seams of the wide shoulders fall around the middle of my upper arms.

He’s laughing at me. “Not half as ridiculous as you looked shimmying up the sidewalk, your teeth chattering, wearing nothing but a napkin. It was killing me to watch.”

“You… were watching me?”

“You were late.” He shrugs on his blazer.

“You were worried.” The words slip out before I can stop them. My hand goes to my mouth, covering it. The giant sleeve falls toward my elbow.

He takes my hand in his. The tingles return, always seeming to be present when his skin finds mine. “Don’t be silly.”

That loathsome word again. “Let me give you a little tip for your interaction with your female clientele. Woman hate being called silly.”

“Then wear a coat. And don’t make ridiculous assumptions,” he snaps.

He’s infuriating. He tugs my hand and pulls me along. Wearing this oversized coat, being guided by Bronson, I feel like a little girl.

And I find that I don’t mind it. Not a bit…

I let him hold my hand and guide me through the store.

He calls out, “Alice, keep an eye on the place—we’ll be right back.”

I clench the fabric in my hand so my sleeve won’t slip again, and give Alice a little wave with my cloth-covered hand. She gives me curious look, replying, “You got it, Mr. Bachman.”

He opens the door in one smooth pull, making it look weightless. “After you.”

I summon my pride. I stick my nose in the air. Striding beside him, I pretend they can see the dress and that I am not draped in a huge man’s coat.

I catch him sneaking a glance at me out of the corner of his eye. He smiles and murmurs, “You look adorable.”

My cheeks burn. I mumble, “Thank you.”

“Are you warm enough?” he asks.

Between keeping up with his pace and the miles of wool covering me, I am getting quite hot. Sweat prickles beneath my arms. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He stops and I almost trip over my heels to stop beside him. We stand before Daughtry’s Clothiers. One of the places I hadn’t yet gathered the nerve to enter. My eyes must look like saucers, my mouth hangs slightly open in awe.

He studies my face. “You like?”

I nod.

“Here. Let’s take that coat off so you can arrive in style.”

Relief washes over me as he helps me out of his coat. He folds it over his arm with expert manners—like a gentleman would in an old movie.

Opening the door, he says, “After you.”

I step over the threshold with the reverence one might enter a church.

I hold in a gasp.

It is so much more beautiful on the inside than it was peeking in from the windows.