Leanne cast him a smiling glance over one shoulder. She probably didn’t mean for it be so seductive, but his heart still skipped over it. Impossible not to react when a woman like this focused all her attention on him.

“Not red?” she teased.

He shook his head. “That’s such an aggressive color. Not the vibe we want for a whirlwind wedding weekend.”

“Are you commenting on my hair?”

Trev froze. He loved her hair, actually, and he hadn’t meant to make her feel bad with his random joke. It took confidence and commitment to look after and—

“Relax, I’m joking. I agree with you. It’s sort of a violent phrase. When I think of painting the town red, slasher movies come to mind.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and beckoned. “How do you feel about random facts?”

“Generally? I enjoy them,” he said, as they left the hotel room.

“There’s a fun story that people tell about how the phrase got started, likely inaccurate. They say ‘paint the town red’ comes from this British nobleman who loved a good prank. Apparently, he led his crew to paint a tollgate and several front doors…bright red.”

“Huh. So it’s not blood after all.”

“Probably not.”

They took the elevator down with a couple who couldn’t stop kissing. Trev spared a wish that Leanne felt that way about him then sternly warned himself to be happy with what he had.

There was a special rideshare pickup area away from the taxi line, and they waited for five minutes before a young driver in a gorgeous black BMW collected them. Trev mouthed “wow” at Leanne, who shrugged. Apparently, she was used to this. They got dropped off at the freestanding silver and gold resale shop, a dated-looking white-and-blue building not far from the Strip. He had his doubts going in, but the prices were reasonable.

He found a set of simple silver rings that Leanne liked and he could afford; the shop said they could have them sized to fit in two hours. Next, they ordered a ride to an upscale consignment shop, trendier than he expected, and he found an elegant gray pinstriped suit in his size right away, almost like it was predestined. Normally, Trev didn’t believe in fate, but Leanne stared at him with naked admiration when he stepped out, dressed to the nines in clothes he would’ve said didn’t suit him—until he saw his reflection in her eyes.

Trev picked up a trilby hat and twirled it then set it on his head. “What do you think? Does it work?”

“Love it. We’re not leaving until we find you the matching wing tips.”

The salesclerk overheard. “Actually, we have a good selection in the back. Not many can pull off vintage gangster style, but your boyfriend is rocking it.”

“Fiancé,” Leanne corrected.