“Sure. Do you need help with some errands?”

“No. I thought you might like to see more of it. We can have lunch. Stop by the pet store and get Grom a new bone.”

At the word bone, Grom’s ears perked up.

“That would be great.” And a nice way to distract herself. She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “You are going to shower, though, right?”

He laughed as he pushed himself up on his crutches. “I will not end up looking as nice as you, but I will try.”

An hour later, they were on Main Street, courtesy of a Ryde driver. Van had put his brace on over jeans, which he’d paired with a fisherman’s sweater and lug-soled boots. The bulk of the sweater made him look even bigger. Maybe because of that and his shaved head and resting serial killer face, people gave them a fairly wide berth on the sidewalk.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Could be he was used to it. She wasn’t. It was hard to see the looks on people’s faces and not tell them to stop judging Van. Because it seemed like that was what they were doing.

She didn’t like it. Just because she was going to end up hurting him didn’t mean she wanted anyone else to do it.

The face of one approaching woman was frozen in a fearful grimace, her gaze stuck on Van.

Monalisa did the only thing she could think of. She linked her arm through his and smiled at him. The woman’s expression changed to shock, and Monalisa felt a little vindication. “This is a great town.” Some of the tourists weren’t so fabulous, but the place itself was pretty cool. He’d explained before they left the house a little more about how supernaturals could live here without issue, being themselves all the time thanks to the enchanted water and the year-round celebration of Halloween.

“It is. Building my house here was an easy decision.”

“Where’s the pet shop?”

“Farther down. We will do that last. After lunch.”

“Okay. Where do you want to go now?”

“Wherever you like.” He smiled back. “I don’t come to town much, so this is new for me too. But I do like to shop. Once in a while.” He laughed. “What good is having money if you can’t spend it, right?”

“Right.” She couldn’t really relate to that. Her parents kept her on a pretty tight budget, all part of controlling her. It worked too.

“Let’s go in here.” He grabbed the shop’s door and opened it, waiting for her to go through.

She glanced up. Hats In The Belfry. She’d seen this shop on the drive to Pandora’s. “Okay, cool.”

It was toasty inside, so she loosened her short jacket. There were rows and rows of foam ovals attached to the wall, each one sporting a different hat. One wall was men’s, one was women’s, another kids’, and in the center of the store, three spinning racks were devoted to silly hats of all descriptions.

“What do you think?”

She turned around to see Van in a gangster-style fedora. She laughed. “Now you really look like a tough guy.”

He took the hat off. “Which one, then?”

“You really want a hat?”

He nodded. “One that makes me look…less like me.”

She squinted at him. “I think I know what you’re saying, but I don’t like it. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.” There was a lot right with it, in fact.

His jaw tightened. “I see the way people look at me. They are afraid. I do not like that.”

“Those people are idiots.”

He snorted. “I’m sure they would disagree with you.”

“They’re judging you based on what you look like. That makes them shallow and superficial.”

He stared at her, a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “Did you not judge me when you saw me?”

She had. She’d judged him just like she judged all fighters. “Yes, but I got over that pretty quickly. And I’m sorry about that. I was an idiot too.”

“You were never an idiot.”

“I’ll decide that. Now let’s find you a hat.” She scanned the rows behind him, finally settling on a newsboy style in herringbone tweed. “Try this.”

He put it on. “Well?”

She adjusted it, giving it a little slant. She stepped back and smiled. “I like it. And it goes with your sweater.” Truth was, he looked more Irish than Russian right now, but there was something very charming about the hat on him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. “I like it.” He turned back to her. “Now you.”

“A hat for me?”

“Da. My treat.”

“No, I can’t let you—”

“Lisa.” He grabbed her hand. “You got me out of my funk. You got me to see that I cannot turn my back on fighting. Not yet. I am grateful. Please, let me say thank you.”

He wouldn’t be saying thank you when he found out the truth. She made herself smile. “I’m not sure I look good in hats.”

He winked. “Let me be the judge of that.”

He picked out a deep green wool felt hat with a slightly floppy brim and a black ribbon band. She put it on, angling it to one side, then faced him. “Is it me?”

“Definitely. See for yourself.”

She looked in the mirror. He was right. It was her, much more than she would have guessed. She felt a little mysterious in the hat. Like a secret agent. “Wow, it’s pretty cute.”