Page 34 of My Faire Lady

Smiling at the laden basket, I leave the sewing supplies and head toward the cash register.

I pass an aisle of wooden signs, and my footsteps slow. The sign above Lottie’s shoppe is as old as the buildings are, and humidity has steadily eaten away at the wood. A new name deserves a new sign.

Most of the signs are plain—unstained and lacking decorative edges. Not at all like Lottie. I crouch and thumb through a row of wooden planks, but none of them stand out. Blowing my hair out of my face, I stand and study the top shelf.

Perfect.

I abandon the shopping basket on the floor and lift to my toes, reaching for a sign hanging from the highest hook. My thumb drags over its smooth, decorative edge—beveled and rounded into the shape of a shield that comes to a point at the bottom. Just like the shield I joust with.

It needs paint. Lavender, maybe. And while my handwriting has no business being on a sign, Frankie can help me paint Lottie’s name in a curled script. I’ll add snapdragons climbing up the sides, or vines twisting around the⁠—

“Scarlet?”

I freeze.

My heart hammers in my chest.

Swinging the sign behind my back, I turn slowly, my shoes squeaking against the polished tile. “Lottie? What are you doing here?”

She smiles and lifts the card strung around her lanyard. “I work here.” A shrug. “Well, for a few more days. I put in my notice.”

I blink against the bright overhead lights. “Oh.”

This is what I get for not asking about work history on job applications.

Her smile widens, and I clear my throat, shifting on my feet as she closes the distance between us.

She peeks around my back at the basket on the floor. “Is that all for me?”

Heat climbs my neck and sears a path across my cheeks. “You gave me a list.”

She hums. “I don’t remember putting a sign on the list.” Reaching around, she eases it from my hands and turns it over, dragging a finger over the grooves. “What’s it for?”

The words clog in my throat. Her doe eyes pull me in, and dark brown curls hanging loose from her ponytail dance around her cheekbones.

I sever the eye contact, focusing on the floor near my feet as my magic whips at my bones. “I thought I’d make a new sign for your shoppe.”

Light creeps into the space behind her eyes, like holding a candle to a windowpane at night. She steps closer and slides the wooden sign into the basket, looping her arm through the handles as she balances it against her hip. “Come on, Scarlet. I’ll give you my employee discount.”

I follow behind her as she dips into the next aisle and stops at a row of acrylic paints. She tilts her head, studying the sign, and plucks lavender, forest green, and black from the shelf. She tosses them into the basket.

“What color do you think ‘Lottie’s’ should be?” She looks at me from the corner of her eyes, smirks, and shakes her head. “Never mind, I got it.”

She grabs a tube of paint deep within the shelves, and before I have a chance to spot the color, she throws it onto the pile. Swinging the basket on her arm, she leads us to the cash register at the front of the store.

“I got her, Jack,” she says, dropping the basket on the counter as she rounds it. She taps a finger against the screen, and with every spool of thread she scans, her smile grows. “I’m on my break in five minutes. Want to grab lunch?”

“I—” The seconds tick on the clock hanging from the wall above her head, black hands steadily creeping closer to the hour. Technically, I don’t have to be back until sundown, but⁠—

“The faire can wait,” she says. “Just this time, don’t you think?”

I shouldn’t. Not with the way my pulse speeds in her presence, or the way my tongue fails to form words when she holds my gaze a moment longer than usual.

But I don’t think she’ll let me say no.

“Okay,” I say, paying. “But only a quick lunch. Boden needs me back at the faire.”

She passes me the receipt and loops the bags around my wrist, the pads of her fingers brushing over my pulse. My skin pebbles from the touch.