I throw the tissue into the nearest trash, wiping the residual moisture in my hand onto my jeans. When I come back, Mariano takes my hand and pulls me to him. His rough hand is warm against mine and a sigh of satisfaction bubbles up in my throat.
"Listen. I apologize for leaving like that earlier. I just needed some time to think. Then I ended up at my sister's."
Nodding, I squeeze his hand. "It's okay. How's Malia?"
He huffs. "A pain in my ass."
My mother comes back, holding a navy blue linen-twill shirt in a velvet hanger with the tags still attached. And I can't stop the smile from forming on my face. "Here. You can wear this. It's from a new collection that we haven't displayed yet. I think it'll fit you just right," she says.
Mariano shakes his head and holds up a hand while gently declining, "Oh, no. Thanks. I'll just drop by the hotel to change—"