“You need a demo,” he says with a laugh, ignoring the threat on my face and continuing with his task of getting Ava in the giant maternity pants. Without instruction, my spare hand reaches for her arm and pulls her back, and she stumbles, throwing me a displeased look.

“You have great legs, miss,” the stall owner says.

“Thanks.”

Is he goading me? Enough. “Give me those.” I swipe the pants from his hands and move Ava away from him, falling to my knee and unraveling the endless material. This is ridiculous. How do they even work?

Ava takes the pants and tucks and ties. “Like this, see?”

No, actually, I don’t. Could she be pregnant? I don’t see why any woman would wear these things otherwise. “Wonderful.” I take my eyes to her face. Her beautiful, smiling face. She could be pregnant. I inhale, shaking my head at myself and the craziness. “Do you want them?”

“I’m paying,” she says adamantly as she removes them.

I sigh, ignoring her and facing the hippy. “How much for the oversized trousers?”

“Just a tenner, my friend.”

“Is that it?” I ask, ignoring Ava’s protests. All that material, just a tenner? I shrug and slap a note in his outstretched hand, and he thanks me as I claim Ava and get us on our way.

“You didn’t have to trample the poor man. And I wanted to pay for the pants.”

“Shut up,” I order gently, getting her close, distracting her from her grievance with a few kisses to her head.

“You’re impossible.”

I smile. So deluded. “You’re beautiful,” I counter. “Can I take you home now?”

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation, and I smile but fold on the inside. The day is nearly over. My clock is ticking, and I’ve not even thought about where I might start when I sit her down at Lusso. I should start with Jake, because, really, that’s where the story that is my fucked-up, sad life begins.

My thoughts are interrupted by music, and I notice we’re approaching the entrance to a renowned alternative store. Ava’s pace slows. She’s curious. And so am I. I know what’s within these walls—I’m not curious about that, but her reaction to it?

“You want to see?” I ask, and she glances up.

“I thought you wanted to go home.”

I do. I don’t. “We can have a quick look.” I divert us and lead her down the stairs into the darkness. The music is brutal, a stark contrast to the evocative, sexy tracks that play in the communal room at The Manor. I watch Ava with interest as she wanders aimlessly through the glowing space, her eyes high and low, hands reaching out and touching the clothing. She skims her fingers over some rare pieces.

“It’s not lace, is it?” I ask quietly.