Page 40 of Double Shot

“What should we get?” I asked curiously.

“Well, I know what I’m getting him,” Kyle said, eyeing the wall of shoes.

“I’ll be over here,” I murmured. The light, pale blue skirt I wore swished against my legs, and I stepped over to the table of ties and kerchiefs, a brilliant purple catching my eye.

It wasn’t Roan’s style, the purple that had caught my eye. It was really more fuchsia than purple, but it had led me to the table and the table held a matching tie and kerchief in a deep and dusky amethyst that would be justperfectwith one of his gray suits. I could picture him so easily adjusting both and tugging on his waistcoat that it made me smile.

I bit my bottom lip and picked them up, turning to Kyle and holding them up so that he could see. His eyebrows went up, and he nodded like there was no question. I should absolutely get them.

I smiled, and that’s just what I did, pleased when the man at the counter boxed them beautifully for me.

Kyle swiped that black credit card of his that opened doors and made people hustle just that little bit more at its appearance and we were on our way.

The afternoon was starting to drag on into evening as we walked quietly arm in arm, stopping here and there along the way.

I stopped in front of a display in an antique store window and cocked my head.

“What?” he asked. “What is it?”

I pointed at the timepiece that had caught my eye. I’d once told Roan that all he was missing was a pocket watch to make him look like a proper butler and he’d laughed and then had gently taught me the difference between a time piece and a pocket watch and had told me that he wouldn’t be caught dead with the latter.

“I need to see how much that costs,” I murmured.

“The pocket watch?” Kyle asked, and I shook my head.

“Thetimepiece,” I said, trying to make out the little placard in French beside it.

“It’s ugly,” he remarked, and I smiled.

“It’sBritish, I think; and it’s old. World War II, maybe?”

“Let’s find out,” he said.

We went in and found out I was right; it was both British and did harken back to WWII. It was an old GSTP or General Service Time Piece. A timepiece worn by officers in the British Army, mostly.

It was sad, but also no wonder how it had wound up in the south of France.

“Sadie?” Kyle asked.

I nodded.

“I want it for him,” I said, and he smiled and the black credit card made another appearance.

We went back to the hotel after that, but not to the room. Kyle said Roan would text him when the tailor, barber and whoever else left. Instead, we went to the hotel restaurant where Kyle ordered himself a gin and tonic and I stuck with just water. I didn’t feel like drinking.

We had dinner. He seemed disappointed that with just the two of us, that we couldn’t properly enjoy anomakase, a chef’s choice dinner from the sushi bar. He had a filet, and I kept it light with a fresh salad, my nerves fraying the longer we waited for Kyle’s phone to buzz across our table.

Finally, it did, and I tried not to jump and sneak a look at it. Kyle smirked when my eyes met his.

“We’re good to go, baby. Come on, I’ll walk you up.” We returned to our suite and Kyle let me go in first.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He set our bags from our shopping trip on the kitchenette’s counter near Roan and walked to the restroom.

Roan looked up at me over his laptop screen, his face eerily illuminated by whatever was on it. I glanced at the glass wall and the deepening dark outside of it, my throat tightening up at the laptop screen and the open and all too familiar email service in the window’s reflection. The emails I wrote him...

My gaze flicked back to Roan’s, and I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again to rush out, “Please don’t hate me for anything I said in those emails.” I pleaded openly with everything that I was in that moment and he cocked his head slightly and shook it.

“I could never hate you for anything, Poppet,” he said, and I knew he meant it. I sniffed and looked away, clearing my throat.

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