Page 45 of New Girl in Town
From there I’d taken off, grabbing any and everything that caught my eye. I was going to embrace weather-appropriate, but only if it made me look good. Otherwise I’d freeze. There were limits, after all.
Except that Grant now gave me a less than impressed look at the item I’d just sailed out of the dressing room wearing.
“It’s flannel,” I answered, frowning at the look on his face. “What’s with the look?”
“That’s not flannel.”
I gestured down the length of my body and turned to look in the full-body mirrors in front of me. “Unless my eyes deceive me, this is definitely flannel.” I wore a purple and blue patterned flannel button-up that hugged my curves just right. I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I thought you of all people would recognize and appreciate this attire, Grant.”
Grant shook his head and ran a hand over his face with a muffled sigh. "That is NOT a flannel." He stepped close to me and caught the thin material between his fingers. "What is this even made...oh my god, this a damn polyester blend. This isn't going to keep you warm for a second in the snow, Aurora."
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then what should I wear?”
Grant looked around and nodded in approval when his eyes landed on a top. “This,” he said, holding the top up in front of him, "this is flannel.”
I pulled a face at the oversized button-up he held. It was red and black, and would have no trouble doubling as a tent for some circus act. “That is a stunt double for a tent,” I told him.
“Try it on.” At my dubious look Grant added, “Just humor me, sweetheart.”
“Fine.” I plucked the top from his hand and shook my head. Turning on my heel, I went back into the dressing room and shrugged on the new top. Once it was on I scowled, turning my head this way and that as I took in the angles this flannel gave me, which amounted to zero.
“You okay in there?” Grant asked, knocking on the door.
“This thing is horrendous,” I called out to him.
“Come on out.”
“No.”
“Aurora...it can’t be that bad.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, it can’t, can it?” I asked, throwing open the door with a flourish. “Well, feast your eyes on all of this...flannel.”
A smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and I knew the man wanted to laugh from the twinkle in his eyes, but he schooled his face into a pleasant smile. “You look nice.”
“I look like I’ve been attacked by sentient flannel. I can see the headlines now. Local woman: swallowed by flannel. Never seen again.”
He cracked a smile at that. “Okay, so maybe we size down.”
“More like we need a new garment. Size isn’t the issue here. I look like I could step in for one of those bearded hunters on one of those reality shows in Alaska.”
“You would be the cutest one of all.”
I blushed at that. “You’re good, St. John.”
He laughed and gave me a smirk. “I know.” He leaned forward, his breath warming my skin, and I shivered when I felt his hands at my sides, fingers pressing into my sides as he spoke, voice low like a caress. He reached past me, grabbing a new top. “You’re wearing a men’s size medium. Try it a size down,” he said, pushing it into my hands.
I nodded, my heart in my throat at his proximity. “Thanks.”
“Nervous, baby?”
I gave a quick shake of my head and grabbed the shirt from his hands. “Not per se,” I told him, looking up at him with a smile.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not nervous. I’m excited.”
Grant tipped his head to the side and gave me an assessing look. “Excited?” he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.
