She climbed the narrow flight of stairs, black City Mini under one arm and a squealing Rikki tucked under the other. When she finally reached the landing, she dropped them both and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. At least the store didn’t look too busy.
She squeezed in the doorway, the smell of fresh leather hitting her as she found her nose nearly pressed against the shoe display on the opposite wall.
“Can I help you?” The saleswoman had a slight European accent and a short, stiff sheitel.
“I, um, I need shoes for my 14-month-old. She just started walking. Rikki, no!” Shira yanked the toddler away from the nearest tower of shoeboxes. Rikki squirmed and shrieked. “Come, Rikki, cutie, hold your foot still so the lady can measure,” Shira coaxed, flushing.
Create a free account to keep reading.
