Vivienne's POV
It started with a jacket.
Not dramatically. Not with any announcement of intention or explanation of what I was doing or why. We were walking past a shop on Meridian Street on a Saturday afternoon, having migrated from The Harlow after a late breakfast in the easy unplanned way that time sometimes moved when two people were comfortable enough with each other to not require a schedule, and I stopped at the window.
The jacket in the display was simple and well cut and exactly the kind of thing that would look right on him. I knew this the way I knew most things I had been paying attention to without formally deciding to pay attention to. His build. His coloring. The particular way he carried himself that meant certain cuts worked and others simply didn't.
"Come in here," I
