Page 4 of Spades

A woman just came in.

And good God damn, if she isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

She’s in a light-blue puffy down jacket, but even with that on, I can make out a slender figure. She has perfect blond hair that hangs past her shoulders, and her skin has a light-olive tone to it. Her lips are a gorgeous shade of dark pink, and a light blush graces her cheeks—probably from the cold. Even from the distance between my shop’s entrance and the cashier counter where I’m currently standing, I can see that her eyes match her jacket’s icy shade of blue. The same color as Lake Michigan when it freezes over. A few snowflakes rest on her gorgeous long lashes.

I see hot women all the time. The club has them by the dozen. But not one of them can match the vision that just entered my shop.

I clear my throat. “Hi. Can I help you?”

She looks up at me, and her eyes widen. “Y-Yes. I happened to be wandering by. Took a different path home from work. I saw your shop, and I…”

She pouts her lips, which drives me crazy. Something stirs in me that I haven’t felt since…

Well, let’s just say it’s been a while.

“Are you looking for a gift for someone?”

She scratches the side of her head. “No. It’s silly, to be honest. I was just…” She chuckles nervously. “I saw the sign, and I was wondering what exactly a haberdashery is.”

I laugh. “You’re joking.”

She frowns. “I wish I were. You must take me for a dummy.”

I’m just realizing that she has a British accent, in a light honeyed tone. She could broadcast for the BBC. It’s that clear and articulate. God, as if I weren’t already attracted as hell to her…

I shake my head. “Not at all. It’s not like it’s the most conventional word.” I gesture to the shelves and displays around me. “Haberdasheryis basically just a fancy word for a men’s clothing store. We sell suits and jackets here, mostly, but also lots of accessories. Ties, cuff links, watches, even hats.”

She drops her jaw. “Hats? Like top hats?”

I smirk. “Mostly fedoras and bowlers, but we do have a small selection of top hats, too.”

She pouts her lips again—God, I love it—and looks around the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen a man wearing a hat—besides a Cubs cap—since I got to Chicago.”

I shrug and lean toward her from behind the counter. “Well, you’ve just met one.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You?”

I reach under the counter and grab a dark-gray fedora. “This is the one I’m wearing today. Never go outside without it.”

She frowns. “You’re not one of those fedora-wearing, terminally online incels, are you?”

I let out a loud laugh at that. “If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that, I’d have a good seventy-five cents.”

She giggles. It’s bright and airy, almost like birdsong.

I attempt to stay nonchalant. “The difference between those kinds of guys and me is that when I wear a men’s hat outside, I treat it as an extension of me, not some kind of decoration or costume. I wear the hat. The hat doesn’t wear me.”

She narrows her eyes. Can’t blame her. What I just said sounds like some kind of fortune-cookie nonsense.

I chuckle. “I guess that was a weird thing to say.”

She cocks her head and rakes her gaze up and down my body. “Not a weird thing to say at all. WhatIsaid was weird.” Her cheeks flush. “Obviously you’re not a guy like that. I mean, look at how?—”

She shuts her mouth. But I think she was about to pay me a compliment on my appearance.

I bow my head slightly. “You’re very kind, Miss…”

“Alissa. Alissa Maravilla.”

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