Page 58 of Love JD

“Oh, negative.” I stepped away from her, pulling my car fob from my pocket. “You’re spending money today.”

I got a text from Kael as I pulled into the parking lot of Cherry Creek, which even on a Thursday, teemed with avid shoppers.

Ghost:

Sorry I left. I’ve been chasing her for months.

Zev:

I can handle Isla.

Tell Tristan not to worry about it.

Ghost:

I figured. Mattie isn’t dangerous… ish.

Isla was safe with her.

Zev:

Then why are you chasing her?

Ghost:

Another time. I hate texting. Good luck.

Shaking my head, I pocketed my phone and turned to Isla. Then I jumped. She was staring at me like she hoped her eyes would shoot lasers and melt my gray matter. “Something wrong?” I asked, fighting another smile.

“I hate malls.”

I gave her an up-down perusal. “Clearly.”

“Egh.” She rolled her eyes and shoved the door open.

I tried not to panic, but every time she stood up that fast, I felt like she was going to fall flat on her face. Then again, her triggers were random. What sent her spiraling to the pavement one time seemed to be innocuous another. I had called Amos and asked about the condition, but he admitted that her particular type of dysautonomia often presented in mysterious ways. All that meant for me was my time with Isla would never be boring. Something about that really appealed to me, and I tried not to linger on the thought too long.

Isla marched into the mall, her fingers tight on her worn-out, brown purse that I was absolutely certain she had fished out of a dumpster somewhere. She looked around the large department store like I’d taken her on a date to a fish hatchery. I slipped my hand into hers and tugged her forward. She gave our linked hands an uncertain glance, and then her grip relaxed. She seemed happier to let me lead, so I did.

It was at the third store that we were finally recognized. Slowly, like a lint ball collecting debris, the spectators turned up. I was kneeling in front of Isla as she sat on a padded bench in the shoe boutique, and she was trying on shoes when the first of the onlookers became obvious. The store clerks had surrounded us in boxes of size eight shoes, and I slipped a white sneaker with lace sides over her foot while she stared around us in concern. “Zev…”

“I know,” I said placidly, tying the shoe. “They’re watching. Look like you love me.” She rotated a wide-eyed look my way. I glanced up from her shoe and winked. “I’m sure you can manage.”

A muted, garbled sound escaped her throat, and I barely resisted the urge to squish her cheeks together. Was it possible to like someone so much you wanted to take a huge bite out of them, like they were a puff pastry?

She liked the lace sneakers, some brown flats that made me want to facepalm because they looked like they belonged on a math teacher somewhere, and a pair of Mary Jane black pumps. We left the store with our bags, and several phones took pictures, the clicking audible along with whispered exclamations of surprise.

Isla plastered herself to my side. “I hate this.”

“Funny. You didn’t seem to mind being in the spotlight last night,” I replied sourly.

She gave me an exasperated glance as I led her to a designer clothing boutique. “I said I was sorry.”

“You terrified me. I was terrified, Isla. Why didn’t you say something about the reporter in the backyard and your clothing? Why didn’t you tell me where you were after you left?”

I still held her hand, and although we were arguing, Isla and I kept banal expressions on our faces as we entered the clothing store. Her eyes darted nervously around. “I don’t know. I was mortified, I think. About the clothing. Or maybe I hoped it hadn’t happened, and if it had, that it was enough that I’d gotten her camera. And then I left because I just—” Her hair slid around her shoulders as she stared down at her feet, stalled in the middle of the small store. “I just hate feeling trapped.”

I hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to mine. I wasn’t sure I could ever get used to the way her gaze affected me. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—because she was. But it was the way she looked at me. Like she trusted me. “Then, truly, I’m sorry I made that worse this morning. I know I already said that, but it’s still true. That was my fear and anger at work. And I’m sorry you were scared and embarrassed.”

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