The boutique pretended not to be intimidating with its soft lighting and citrus candles, but the price tags had gravity. Mannequins in midnight fabrics stared like they knew secrets about posture.
Brooke stopped just inside the doorway and breathed in the acres of silk. "If I sneeze in here, will it cost five hundred dollars?"
Neville pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, mock serious. "No fever. But I'll pay a cautionary sneeze deposit, just in case."
"You're ridiculous," she said, smiling despite herself.
"Correct," he said, offering his arm. "Come argue with me about fabrics."
They started on his side rows of suits that looked indistinguishable to everyone except men who cared about lapels.
Neville did. He drifted to charcoal first, then navy, then something darker, the color of a sky one drink past midnight.
Brooke trailed her fingers over a velvet dinner jacket, nearly black but not quite. "This feels like trouble."
