“You must be mistaken. I clearly found this sweater first.”
“Like heck you did! You stole it right out of my cart.”
Asher and I froze. Oh crap, was mom fighting with some other crazy deal hunter again? How many times had I warned her to keep things civil?
“Just great. My mother can get very heated when someone tries to take clothes away from her,” he muttered.
I gaped at him. “What? That's your mother mine's fighting with?”
Both of us recognizing the impending catastrophe, we raced after the sound of their voices. I had to hurry. Last time, she got so upset that she threw a shoe at some poor girl and got banned from the shop for life.
“Give it back, Pam,” his mother, Vivian, growled. “It's not in your size anyway.”
“Well, it certainly won't fit you! You're far too much of a twig.”
There they were, duking it out in the middle of the clearance aisle with curious onlookers watching the whole thing. Mom held one end of a hideous purple sweater while Vivian tugged mightily on the sleeve.
Asher held back, as if he decided jumping into the melee wasn't so wise after all. I myself thought it'd be a good idea to hide under the clothing racks until their battle was done.
“I saw you take it,” mom wailed. “It was hanging right there on the side. You can't just reach in and steal whatever you want.”
Vivian scoffed. “This is just like you to make up such outlandish lies.”
Asher's family and mine existed in different social circles – his belonged to the snooty, rich upper class – but this being a smallish town, it was inevitable that they'd run into each other now and again.
Inevitable, too, that they meshed about as well as oil and water.
“Mom,” Asher called to Vivian. “Mom, stop it. It's only a shirt. You can buy the same one someplace else. Or maybe they've got more in the stockroom.”
I went to mine and struggled to pull her away. But she was stronger than she looked, and swatted me away like an annoying fly.
“We've gotta go,” I begged her. “C'mon. I'll make us a couple mugs of hot cocoa and help you decorate the house.”
That usually did the trick. Not this time. She still clung to the sweater the way a toddler might cling to her security blanket.
“You don't understand. This shirt is perfect for me.”
“It's perfect for me, too, so get your own,” snapped Vivian.
More shoppers hung about to see what all the fuss was. Nearby, there was a man in a tie who looked like the manager, flanked by a couple of security guards. Oh, great.
Asher's shoulders slumped and he joined me on the sidelines. “Sorry she had to cause such a scene. She's usually more well-behaved unless she's been drinking.”
Each woman yanked on the sweater, harder and harder, refusing to give in – until there was a horrible ripping sound.
The shirt tore in half. Vivian stumbled in surprise with her piece, but managed to stay on her feet.
Mom wasn't so lucky. She went flying backward, crashing into a shelf of neatly stacked jeans. The whole display collapsed with her on top of it as she let out a pained “Ooof!”
The manager, who looked utterly horrified, ran to help her up. The crowd, now laughing hysterically, hurried to take plenty of embarrassing pictures of mom kicking and howling like a spoiled infant.
Vivian stared at her, then at the scrap in her hands, with a look of shock on her face. Asher put his hand on her shoulder.
“Let's go,” he said quietly. “I'm sure you don't want this to end up on the news.”
“Gracious, no. Your father would never forgive me.” She threw the shirt down and laughed. “Oh, well. I hope that lying cow is happy. I don't need to buy discount clothes like she does. I'll just go buy another one at Saks or Nordstrom.”
Asher mouthed “Sorry” to me as he led her away with her basket. Mom was still struggling to untangle herself from the mess of pants and clothes hangers.
“Get this thing off me,” she grunted, shoving aside a piece of the shelf. “Ugh, look, I've already got a bruise. If I weren't a good Christian woman, I'd sue her for assault.”
The manager looked like he might wet himself. He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet.
“I-I'm terribly sorry about this, ma'am. I'll give you a gift card for the trouble. And, um, ten percent off your entire purchase today.”
I watched Asher as he vanished into the crowd of shoppers. Looked like we'd have to talk about finding him a wife some other time.
Trouble was, time was a luxury we didn't have. With less than a month to go, he needed a bride fast.
I had no choice but to accept his dinner date offer. He'd probably ply me with alcohol, take me back to his place, and try his best to charm the clothes off of me.
I told myself I didn't want a guy like him. Swore that I could resist, just like I resisted every time he tried the past five years.
But I was only lying to myself.
I'd needed a man's touch for such a long time. Asher could give me what I so badly craved.
The moment he got me alone, we both knew what would happen.
I was going to be his.
Chapter 4 - Asher
“I'm never taking mom shopping again.”
Macy stared at me in the mirror as she painted her cheeks pink with makeup. The color was barely visible against her overly-tanned, almost-orange skin, but I kept quiet about that.
“Now you know what I've got to deal with every week. Last time, all she did was bitch about the Christmas music they were playing.
