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“Okay, so is that a no toallsweaters or justthesesweaters?” She turns her frame to completely face me once more. “Do you hate sweaters? Would you prefer button downs? Polos? Long sleeve polos?! Graphic tees?” Jaye folds her arms across her chest. “What do you prefer?”

“I don’t.”

She tilts her head in a challenging nature.

“Warm?”

The firm expression remains.

“Sweetheart, I haven’t had to buy clothes in…” my speech drifts off taking my eyes with it. “Fuck…forever?” Another uncomfortable feeling roots itself in the pit of stomach pushing me to make eye contact again. “Look, whatever you wanna buy me – or don’t buy me – is fine. Ken Doll accessory shit included.”

Her slow headshake stirs the feelings in the worst ways. “No, Archer.We are going to get you somethingyou like. You’ve had plenty of what fits and what’s available. What is somethingyouwant to wear? To be seen in?”

“Seen fucking where, Jaye?! Your living room?!” Realizing how harsh my outburst unintentionally was has me rushing to do what I get the feeling I’m going to be doing a lot. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m-”

“Dinner.”

The initial response stuns me silent.

“Or the movies.”

Seeing her shoulders push back as she straightens her spine to stand up to me…for me…is almost too incredible to process.

“Or – let’s be real for a sec – one of the many,manybookstores in this city. Or maybe bowling. Or to see holiday lights. Or to grab a drink. Or hell, I don’t know, maybegrocery shopping.” Her hand waves around to underline her point. “I’ve answered your question. Now, answer mine.”

The firmness in her tone causes a part of me to get firm in the wrong way.

“Whatwould you like to wear? Pick something and two pairs of jeans and one pair of sweats.”

“That’s too much.” When there’s no effort to redact part of what she suggested, I release a heavy sigh, “Jaye, I don’t need-”

“To keep fighting with me. You’re just slowing down the dinner making process, and I’ll be totally honest. The longer it takes me to grocery shop, the more likely I am to order delivery versus cook.”

“I’ll cook.”

“And you’ll wear…”

Sensing that she won’t cave, I reach for a couple nearby flannel shirts, “These. And I’ll grab a pack of long sleeve tees.”

“And jeans.”

“Andonepair of jeans.”

“Andonepair of sweats.”

I reluctantly surrender. “Fine.”

She struggles not to squeak in glee. “Fine.”

Strolling away is attached to a quiet grumble, “You’re too fucking sweet for your own good.”

“Like my cookies!”

After grabbing the items and tossing them into the cart, I resume pushing only to be stopped almost immediately.

“You need boxers!” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Or briefs…Or boxer briefs. Or you know whatever you prefer.”

With the opportunity to lighten the mood back up, I playfully poke, “You don’t like me going commando?”