Free These Boots Were Made for Stomping by Julie Kenner Page A

surfing
     to Hiheelia.com.
    For another, the whole thing didn’t feel quite right, not now after the alcohol haze had finally worn off and her brain was
     semifunctional again. Semi being the operative word since she was a little hungover, not to mention fuzzy from a lack of sleep about which she would
     never, ever complain.
    Still, he thought she was someone (or, rather, something) she wasn’t, and that wasn’t a good way to start a relationship.
     And the truth was, she desperately hoped this was a relationship, or at least the beginning of one.
    She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, prepared to tell him all about the shoes and the Web site, but instead, he kissed
     her, nodded toward the tray; then said one tiny, magic word: “Breakfast.”
    Lydia’s stomach sprang to life, and whatever else had been in her head left, replaced by the delicious scent of the breakfast
     he’d fixed. For her. Wow.
    She reached for the tray, her eyes on his face. Her fingers brushed the coffee cup; she pulled it toward her—and somehow managed
     to upset the entire delicate balance, sending the tray tumbling to the floor and the fabulous food spilling everywhere.
    “Oh!” She leapt out of bed, completely mortified. “Oh, my gosh. You made it for me and I totally ruined everything!” She felt
     tears prick her eyes, and she blushed furiously, wishing the shoes could turn back time.
    “It’s okay,” he said, his smile confirming the sentiment.
    “I’ll make everything again,” she said, feeling desperate.
    He laughed, the sound warm and reassuring. “I used the last of your bread.” He held out his hand. “But I’d be delighted to
     take you out on this fine morning.”
    She cocked her head. Was he seriously not mad?
    His mouth quirked up as if he knew what she was thinking. “Of course, there is one downside.” His eyes grazed over her naked
     body and made her skin tingle as if he’d trailed his fingertips over every inch of her. “It’s a pity, but I think clothing
     is required.”
    “That is a pity,” she said, taking a moment to boldly look him up and down before focusing on her bare feet and concentrating
     on not blushing. This new confidence was exciting, but it took a little getting used to.
    After a few minutes of scrounging and peering under various bits of furniture, eventually they found their clothes. Lydia
     pulled her jeans and sweater back on, feeling decadent for not showering off the scent of him, then gave her hair a few strong
     strokes with a brush before pulling it back into a ponytail. Not the sexiest style, but from the way he was looking at her,
     you would have thought she was a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model.
    “You’re staring,” she said.
    “You’re beautiful.”
    She laughed. “Good answer. Stare all you want.”
    “So, just how hungry are you?”
    She cocked her head, fighting a smile. “Put it this way. I’m weak from hunger. Do you want me weak? Or do want me energized
     when we come back?”
    “Well put,” he said, tossing her one of her shoes. “Get dressed.”
    She caught the shoe one-handed, then frowned. Yesterday, whatever assertiveness she’d had was from the shoes. But right then,
     she’d bantered and joked and generally goofed around with him in a provocative way, and she wasn’t wearing the things.
    Wow.
    “What?” he said, looking at her face and smiling.
    She shrugged, then slipped her feet into her shoes and laced them up. “Nothing much,” she said. “Only that I’m in a fabulous
     mood.”
    “That makes two of us,” he said, taking her hands and pulling her into his arms.
    They wandered out into the Brooklyn morning, and Lydia took him to her favorite restaurant, Maisie’s, on the corner near a
     community park. They sat outside and talked about everything and nothing, and Lydia was absolutely certain that it was the
     best morning she’d ever had. Not even the din of nearby argumentative voices could put a damper on her