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“You okay?”

“Oh, of course I’m okay,” she replies quickly, brushing her hair back with the back of her hand.

She glances down, and I follow her eyes, seeing her slightly differently all of a sudden. She’s wearing a pair of my shower shoes, and obviously they don’t fit. And she’s wearing my T-shirt, and that really doesn’t fit either, no matter how cutely she tied it.

“They have clothes in this place? Shoes?” I ask her.

She shrugs shyly. “Well, sure they do…”

“All right, let’s go pick a couple of things out. Things that actually fit you. Whatever you want.”

She breaks into a brilliant smile. “Seriously? You want to… buy me clothes?”

Holding out an elbow, I wait for her to take it so I can guide her down the aisle toward the clothing section. Her cheeks are red and she can’t seem to hide the little smile that wants to break through.

She’s never had a man buy her clothes before?

Actually… have I ever bought anything like that?

“I will meet you guys over there,” Will smiles. “I want to look at the bestsellers.”

“Oh, okay!” Libby grins back.

Will rolls the cart away as Libby and I go in the opposite direction. Her fingers are small and delicate in the crook of my arm, and I have to admit it feels sort of silly, but also sort of fun to promenade through the middle of the store like this.

As soon as we hit the women’s section, she dives toward the back, to the last racks.

“Wait, these are nice,” I point out, waving at a selection of mannequins in flowery, strapless dresses.

“Oh, yeah, those are really nice,” she agrees. “But this is the clearance rack. They keep it at the back. Usually 50 percent off. I like to check here first.”

“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

“Hell yes I am!” she smiles, clearly delighted by this portion of the field trip.

Weirdly, I expected this to be much more difficult than it is. Shopping is one of my least favorite activities, but being with her makes it effortless.

She flips through the hangers on the rack, stopping every once in a while to pull out a tag and scowl at the price. Sometimes she seems to like something and takes it off the rack so she can hold it up, shoulder height, and scowl at it even more.

“Is there something in particular? Should I be helping?” I ask helplessly.

She shakes her head like the idea is preposterous. “No, you’re perfect! I will know it when I see it.”

“You’ll know it when you see what?”

She shrugs, shaking her head again. “You know… It. The thi

ng. Whatever it is. It will speak to me.”

“Ahhh… It’s going to speak to you,” I reply, finally getting the clue. This is some kind of girly sorcery. I am not meant to understand.

She continues flipping through the rack till she gets to the end, then sidesteps to the other one. Finally she pulls out a dress and lays it across the top, then quickly two more, all in different colors.

“Is that it? The thing that speaks you?” I ask wryly.

With a haughty stare, she plucks the dresses off the rack and folds them over her arm.

“As a matter of fact, they—”