Paolo’s slender body convulsed on a gag. Then my old friend closed his eyes and placed his hands at his temples. “I’m having a vision.”
I shot Lachlan a surreptitious smile. “Paolo is prophetic.”
“A free prophecy with my shirts and pants. That is a heck of a deal.” Lachlan watched Paulo continue to massage his forehead, as if the vision needed coaxing out. “Has he ever given you the winning Powerball numbers?”
“Not once.”
Paulo hummed before he finally spoke. “Yes, the vision is coming to me. I see…a large bonfire. And flames. They’re burning hot and reaching toward the sky.”
“Is it our marriage license?” A girl could dream.
“No.” Paolo’s eyes popped open, and his revolted gaze swept over Lachlan once again. “It’s your entire wardrobe. Burn it. Every last thread must die.”
Lachlan slid me a look. “Sounds wasteful.”
“You came here for my help,” Paolo said, “and my help I give.” He focused on Lachlan and delivered the rest of his verdict. “I see you in tailored slacks and fitted jackets. Your body is a temple, and hoodies are desecrations.”
“But they’re comfortable.” Lachlan looked at his sweatshirt fondly. “And the temple likes to be warm.”
“Fashion does not care if you’re cold,” Paolo said.
Lachlan regarded the man. “Does it let me wear underwear?”
“Boxers—silk and no briefs.”
Lachlan’s arm returned to my shoulders. “My sweetie here prefers me commando. Don’t you, babe?”
I clenched my teeth and glared at my husband. “Paolo, do you still have that cousin who beats people up for a case of Bud Light?”
Paolo walked away with atsk, motioning for us to follow. He picked up a shirt here, a pair of pants there. “For this winter, I’m thinking cashmere sweaters, wool peacoats, and Oxford shirts. Lachlan, your color palette will include the spectrum of browns, as well as gray and navy. How do you feel about V-necks?”
“I’ve always been an equal opportunity neckline man,” Lachlan said. “V-necks, turtlenecks, crew neck—I like them all.”
“We’ll throw in a few hats.” Paolo turned to me. “You are getting him a haircut, correct?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Securing him an appointment at Ratify Salon had cost me a lifetime of favors and Frannie’s cupcakes.
Paolo waved a hand toward Lachlan’s upper half. “The shrubbery on his face?”
“That too,” I confirmed. “The works.”
That seemed to slightly mollify Paolo. “Very good. I won’t sell my hats to just any head.”
Lachlan frowned. “I think I might be offended.”
“Throw in some casual wear,” I instructed. “As well as a tux. He has a movie premiere in November.”
“Wehave a movie premiere,” Lachlan corrected.
Paolo sniffed and regarded me. “I don’t do tuxes.”
“No, but you’re connected to people who do,” I said. “If we leave it up to Lachlan, he’ll end up at Chuck’s Tux Warehouse on Main Street.”
Paulo paled. “I’ll handle it.” He bent low to inspect Lachlan’s feet. “Does he always wear Converse?”
“No,” I said, “sometimes he wears Air Jordans.”
“Good Lord. No more of that. Size thirteen?” Paolo guessed.
