"May I help you?" asked a young, dark-haired woman wrapped tightly in a tweed outfit.
Laurence turned serious. "I'd like a pair of these gloves." She tapped her finger on the glass in front of a simple brown pair.
Matthew swallowed. Gloves. The thought of Laurence hiding her beautiful hands inside a pair of gloves prickled his skin with a sensation that was very close to terror. He thought of Greta. Her gloves, so many gloves. Leather, wool, and cotton. Suede, cashmere, and silk. Oh, he thought with dread, those especially, which she had worn to bed every night since the accident…
"Do you like them, Matthew?" Laurence said, flexing ten delicately gloved fingers before him.
"Yes," he said, forcing a smile. "Very much."
"These are our finest pigskin gloves," the sales clerk informed them.
"I'll take them."
"Very good," said the woman, accepting the gloves from Laurence. She closed the cabinet and locked it, and they followed her back down to the lower level. Before Laurence could withdraw her charge card from her wallet, Matthew reached for his own.
"Wait, Lauri. I want to buy those for you."
"Don't be silly."