Abigail shifted and bit her lip, but nodded.

“It’s okay to look smart and pretty,” Liza said gently. The slump of Abigail’s shoulders told her that she’d guessed right. “It’s also okay to want to look smart and pretty. There is nothing wrong or sinful about that.”

“It’s vanity,” Abigail whispered.

Mercy shot Liza a grateful glance in the mirror. “Maybe,” she allowed. “But as long as you understand that it’s not the most important thing in life, a little vanity is okay. I’m a little vain.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. “You are?”

“I am,” Mercy said, her eyes twinkling now. “I like to look good for Rafe.”

Abigail’s sigh was wistful. “You’re beautiful.”

Mercy kissed the child’s temple. “So are you. And these glasses make you even more so. I say we get them.”

“Now me,” Liza said. “I think that purple will clash with my hair, though.”

“I like your hair,” Abigail insisted. “It’s brown and red together.”

“I like it, too. But it’s got a little too much red to go with that purple. What color do you think I should go for?”

For the next ten minutes, Abigail considered the choices before picking out a pair of hot pink glasses in a retro cat-eye style. The corners were covered in rhinestones, sparkling in the overhead lights.

“These,” Abigail announced. “They’re perfect.”

“Perfect” might not have been the word Liza would have chosen. They were . . . “Wow,” Liza managed. “They’re about as far from military-issue specs as I could possibly get.”

Abigail bounced on her toes while Mercy visibly struggled to swallow a grin. “Try them, Liza!” Abigail urged.

“Yes, Liza,” Mercy said, her lips curving. “Try them.”

Biting back a wince, Liza slid them on, then stared at her reflection, barely recognizing the woman staring back. She liked the frames. She actually loved them. “They really are perfect.” She hugged Abigail to her side. “You are a genius, Shrimpkin.”

Abigail preened. “Agent Tom will like them, too.”

Liza stiffened. Agent Tom couldn’t care less what she wore or how she looked. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re friends,” Abigail said simply.

Liza’s throat tightened and she barely managed to smile. “Yes, we are.” And that’s all we are. All we will ever be.

It was high time to move on. Time to stop pining for what and who she couldn’t have.

Mercy tapped Abigail’s nose. “Now me. Pick a pair for me. I’ve worn the same style since college. I’m ready for something different.”

Still wearing the rhinestone frames, Liza turned away, needing to process the sudden swell of grief that had solidified in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She closed her eyes, telling herself that she’d get over Tom Hunter. She’d done it before.

Which was a lie. She’d never gotten over him. She’d simply found an . . . adequate replacement. The memory of Fritz had another wave of grief hitting harder than the last. She pressed the heel of her hand against her breastbone, trying to give herself room to draw a breath.