Perfect Fit

Tommaso

When I told Paige I’d set everything up for another two days in Paris, she’d immediately insisted we spend a day shopping. I put up a cursory front of complaints, but in truth, I was perfectly happy following her from store to store and carrying her bags. Even better, she loved it when I made jokes about some of the worst, frilliest, most French things we came across. She laughed and joined in. For years, I’d heard men complaining about shopping with their girlfriends—fiancées—saying it was the most boring thing in the world, but even if we weren’t laughing up a storm as we paid our way through the most expensive boutiques in Paris, I still would’ve been having a ball. The sun was shining, she kept looking at the ring I’d put on her finger with a soft wonderment I’d never seen in her eyes anymore, and my face hurt from smiling. Paige and I could’ve made a hell of an afternoon out of reading the phone book.

“Stop!” she said.

I froze, my free hand twitching toward the gun I’d hi