We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,75
Never would she ever have imagined purchasing clothing for Dr. Allen Jacobson at a secondhand store. Not when the man wore suits that probably cost more than she made in an entire month routinely.
He wore them so well, too.
It took her little time to find him a week’s worth of clothing, two lighter weight sweatshirts, and a denim jacket. She found similar for herself in the women’s section, including a windbreaker.
Then she made one more stop—the teen boys’ section. He’d given her an idea earlier. With her short hair and her lack of curves—she’d lost a lot of weight while in the hospital—she could easily pass for a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy at a distance. She couldn’t really disguise a man as big or as charismatic as Allen, but she could change her looks according to whatever she wanted to be. She could probably make him look a little less like the Lord of the Manor than he usually did.
He was going to draw eyes everywhere he went. No matter what he wore.
It was her they were looking for, not him. But once someone saw him, he would be remembered.
She doubled back to the women’s section after grabbing several items of boys’ clothing. She’d seen a few dresses and skirts. There had also been a blond wig, still in its original packaging near a Halloween display.
She could go from being a blond woman in a dress to a dark-haired teen boy in a matter of moments, if they needed it. There were a few more ball caps in reasonable shape. She grabbed two that still had original store tags on them.
She had three requirements for used-clothing-store purchases—nothing on her head that was used, nothing on her private parts, and nothing on her feet. Everything else could be washed multiple times and sanitized in a dryer.
She grabbed some sweats and more T-shirts for them to sleep in—he was not sleeping next to her every night nearly naked, not if she was going to keep her hands to herself.
Izzie loaded the purchases into the van, took off the air splint—she hoped, without it, she’d get fewer curious looks than she had in the secondhand store—then headed back across the parking lot.
There was a Dollar General right there. They needed socks and underwear, soap, and a few other things that Mr. Privilege probably had no idea how to buy.
She was loading the last of her purchases into the van when he returned. The breeze ruffled his hair and pushed his maroon FCGH T-shirt against all those nice chest muscles she’d admired only an hour earlier. He’d need to change that shirt—FCGH was a bit of a dead giveaway. The shirt was a tad bit too small on those shoulders and pecs of his.
Izzie was starting to feel a bit doofy looking at him.
“A bucket?” he asked, arms loaded with groceries. “Why?”
“Laundry. We may be wearing secondhand clothes from here on out, but I’m terrified of bedbugs and fleas. We’re washing the clothes first. I also got a wooden drying rack. We wash the clothes in the bucket. Rinse with the wet bath, wring out, and hang dry next to the sink while we drive. I also got dish soap for the dishes and pots. A few other things that I noticed weren’t in the RV.” She’d grabbed a cheap set of cooking pots, a four-piece pack of microwave-safe plastic dinnerware and utensils, and a slow cooker. Nothing was in the RV storage cabinets. She didn’t know if the supplies had been taken out of the van or whether the Lannings had eaten out all the time. Probably at fancy restaurants. The only thing she’d found in the storage compartment had been an old-fashioned stovetop teapot.
With five hundred dollars cash stuffed into it.
She’d rounded out her purchases with half a dozen bath towels and washcloths. He’d armed her with plenty of cash before he’d let her out of the van. “It’s outfitted for travel, now.”
She felt like she was in more control. More of a partner in this adventure—albeit a reluctant one. They were ready for travel.
She thought. She’d never really gone anywhere except one time in her life, so how was she to know?
Long-term travel, at that. Nerves tightened her stomach. Long-term terrified her. Long-term with Allen—this was either shaping up to be a weird romance novel or a dystopian horror adventure. “I got us both socks and underwear, new. Everything else needs washed—at least twice. In hot water.”