Page 53 of Riding the Sugar High

you keep using the word ‘snuggle’

Logan

“What do you think?”Primrose asks.

I lift my head, focusing on the tenth pair of identical brown boots she’s tried. She moves around the mirror, turning one side and the other, lifting one leg, and crossing her ankles. It takes everything I have to limit myself to a simple, “Hmm...That this is the worst day of my life.”

“Youwanted to come,” she says as she walks on the spot.

No, I want to make sure she buys appropriate footwear so she doesn’t die on my farm, and that’s the only reason I’m here.

“You understand you’re not shopping for Paris Fashion Week, right?” I rest my forearms on my thighs and lean forward. “These boots will be nasty come tomorrow. Just buy the most comfortable ones.”

“But it’s not just a matter of comfort.” She turns to me, and my heart squeezes at her defeated expression. “Do I want a zipper? And are they warm? Because mornings can get pretty cold around here. And what about water resistance? And durability!”

“You don’t need durability.”

She halts, seems to think it over, then turns to the mirror without saying a word. I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole again, but it’s the truth. Seventeen days. Twelve now. Simon even printed her plane ticket, and it’s now sitting on my bookshelf, so it’s official.

“I don’t know. They’re all so...brown.”

“They might have them in black or gray. Afraid pink isn’t an option.”

With a sad pout, she mumbles, “I’ll probably get those,” and points at the first pair she tried. When was that? About an hour ago?

“Fine.” I grab the box as she sits beside me and removes the boots. Once she’s back in her pink tennis shoes, I look around, trying to locate the cashier, and instead my eyes land on the mostPrimrosepair of boots I have ever seen, on a plastic stand to my right.

I should just shut up. She chose her boots, and if she sees those, it’ll prolong the torture.

“Let’s go?” she says as she joins my side and pulls out her wallet, her lip stuck out. She looks so sad, and I can tell this is the least fun she’s ever had shopping.

Damn me, I like it so much more when she’s happy.

“How about those?”

“Hm?” She turns around, then gasps loudly as her eyes land on the white cowboy boots. “Oh—yes, yes! I want those!”

She walks over, her fingers brushing the complex beige stitch pattern. “They’re so pretty. Aren’t they pretty?”

“Dreamy.”

Her big blue eyes wander around the shop. “I wonder if they also sell cowboy hats.”

“I’ll kick you off the farm.”

“Come on, give me a ‘yee-haw!’ I know you want to.” When I groan, she must take pity on me, because she raises a hand. “Okay, okay. Just the boots. I’ll try them on; give me a second.”

She walks back, then slides off her shoes. She fits the boots on quickly, and hands on her hips, stares at herself in the mirror.

Though my eyes briefly linger on her ass, wrapped in the shortest white dress to ever exist, I focus on her reflection.

Her blonde locks frame her face, the pink tips brushing over her round, dimpled cheeks. Joy radiates from her bright blue eyes, and I can't help but feel captivated by her genuine happiness.

It’s a whole different sight.

“I love them. And they’re made of faux leather.” With a wink, she twists to look at me. “So you have to love them too, cowboy.”

“Still not a cowboy, Barbie.”