“If the shoe fits, Cinderella,” Sophie couldn’t help saying.
At that insult, Roan turned on his heel and started for the front door.
“I’m sorry!” Sophie said and went after him and put her hands on his arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I—” One look at Roan’s eyes as they sparkled in delight and she knew he’d been teasing her, and she couldn’t help laughing. “I need everything! All of it, from furniture to curtains to pots and pans to a sign painter for the windows.”
“What are you going to name the place? Sophie’s Revenge?”
“How about No Doctors Allowed?”
Roan put his hand over his heart. “I love that name. At least then I might have a chance.”
She stepped back from him and put her hands up in defense. “No. No more men. At least not for a while.”
“How long?” Roan asked seriously.
“Until . . . ” She looked around the little shop. “Until all the walls are covered with my work.”
Roan looked at her for a moment. “That’s right, you’re an artist too, aren’t you?”
“I was. I wanted to be.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a writer,” he said. “Problem is that I can’t write.”
“I doubt if that’s true,” Sophie said. “Surely you can—”
He was shaking his head at her.
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a person with a softer heart than you have. You bring out every protective instinct in me and make me feel like some knight of old. Maybe I should show up on a black horse and—” He broke off at the memory, and Sophie’s narrowed eyes. “Sorry.”
He wouldn’t say it, but he now knew what had made Reede agree to wear that ridiculous costume Sara had made for him. When Sophie looked up with her big blue eyes, Roan felt like grabbing a sword and a shield and fighting off any man who came near her.
Too bad, he thought, it wasn’t the Middle Ages. If it were, he could challenge his cousin to a joust, with Sophie being the prize. Since Roan was bigger than Reede, he’d surely win.
Alas, it was the twenty-first century and all he had was a cell phone. “Didn’t Sara make that red and black costume for you?”
“The one that didn’t fit?”
Roan wanted to say that he thought it fit exceptionally well, since most of Sophie’s luscious figure was spilling out over the top, but he didn’t dare. “Sara knows lots of women who can sew. We’ll have curtains for you in twenty-four hours.”
“Furniture?”
“From the attics of Edilean. Sara’s mother can handle that. She’s the town’s mayor.”
“What do I cook with?”
“You and I will go to a restaurant supply store and fill my pickup.”
“I can’t—”
Roan held up his finger for her to stop talking.
“But you can’t—”
“At!”
Sophie gave a sigh. “Thank you.”