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“Dolls are innocent. Scottish castles have earned it.”

“Important distinction.”

“Extremely.” Eight dollars. That I can do. I tuck the map under my arm.

When I straighten, Gage’s phone is pointed toward me. Click.

My brows climb. “Did you take my picture?”

“No.” He feigns innocence so extravagantly, he’s basically confessing.

“You absolutely did.”

“I photographed Scotland.”

“The map is down here.” I point. “Not up here.” I gesture to my face. “Were you taking pictures of me earlier too?”

His gaze slides lower. “Possibly.”

My stomach gives an irritating flutter. “You have over five million followers.”

“You won’t be posted,” he assures me. “I don’t post people without permission.”

The answer comes so fast, some of my tension loosens. “Then why take them?”

His eyes travel over me. Not leering. Just attentive enough to make my pulse trip. “I photograph things I find interesting.”

“But I’m not a thing.”

“No,” he notes seriously. “You definitely aren’t. Things don’t have legs like yours.”

Great. Gravity shifts about four inches toward him, and my heart starts behaving like an idiot.

The bell over the door jingles behind us as we step onto the sidewalk. The warm wind immediately catches the ribbons in my hair, and Chicago traffic crawls past the intersection in fits of horns and exhaust. Somewhere down the block, bass thumps from an open car window.

“Okay,” I admit, clutching my tote bag. “Three antique stores might have been excessive.”

“Incorrect.” Gage adjusts the paper shopping bag. “The porcelain-doll slander alone made the third stop worthwhile.”

“You started the slander.”

“I identified a supernatural threat.”

“You bought a brass chicken.”

His expression turns solemn. “Henrietta has character.”

My lips press into a smile. “You named it already?”

“She spoke to me.”

I shake my head, but my smile only gets worse. “You’re ridiculous.”

He lowers his head toward me with a smug grin. “And yet you keep following me around.”

“Pretty sure that’s the other way around.” I take a step down the sidewalk.

“Jules.” His voice makes me stop.