I nod, wondering distantly when I got to be able to read his grunts and glowers.
The girls keep smiling at him.
They’re zeroing in, and the skin on my back is definitely up. Yeah, Kiro isn’t the only one with instincts on the rampage here.
I can’t have him,I tell myself.No—just no.
“Are you good if I leave and get my own stuff?” I ask.
He gives me a wary look. He doesn’t like this, but he’ll tolerate it for now.
I force myself to go to the women’s department and get a few basics—underwear, jeans, boots, shirt layers. I check the forecast for the next few days. It’ll be warmish, but the nights will be in the 40s.
I make my purchases and change into the new clothes. Then I head back to the men’s department.
I spot him across the showroom floor being attended to by the two women. He looks miserable. Restless.
I don’t have a good view of him, but I think they’ve gotten him to change into a new outfit. One of them puts a hat on his head. He rips it off.
I think to intervene, but he needs proper clothes.
I go to a rack of rain slickers. He’ll want something waterproof, too. I go through them, then I stop and watch across the store with a gnawing pressure in my gut as one of the saleswomen adjusts the buttons on his shirt.
He allows it. Barely.
The two of them back away to get a look.
The air seems to still. The sounds of the store fade. The racks and lights seem to dim. All I can see is Kiro.
Shivers go over me. He’s stunning—fashion runway stunning.
Back when he was tied to a bed in grubby PJs and a crude haircut, he was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Now he’s beyond gorgeous.
I drink him in from behind the rack.
I force myself to pull out my phone and take a few discreet photos, holding the phone casually, like I’m not really taking them. You get good at taking discreet shots when you’re me.
And these I have to get. Wild boy makeover at the clothes store—these are more money shots. His bargaining chips. These photos will satisfy Murray enough to keep people like Garrick away. They get Kiro the fuck-you money that gets the world to leave him alone.
I check the shots. Kiro is madly photogenic. Ironic for a guy who hates to see himself in the mirror.
Another sales clerk brings over sunglasses.
Sunglasses. Fuck. I suck in a breath.
Our eyes meet. It’s as if he heard me suck in that breath.
He accepts the sunglasses and, eyes never leaving mine, he puts them on. He watches me from behind the dark lenses, towering above the clerks like a movie star.
I know two things right then—one, that he hates those sunglasses. And two, he put them on for me. He heard me, and he knew.
My heart pounds as he watches me—for an inappropriately long time. He looks at me openly, taking what he wants, crashing through the rules. Kiro makes the world over in his own way.
He makes the world beautiful.
Another of the women loops a men’s scarf around his neck. They’re dressing him like their own personal runway model. Paul Bunyan meets GQ. Still he doesn’t look away from me.
My heart whooshes in my ears.Kiro.