Under An English Moon by Bess McBride Page A

against the front of his leg at approximately the same position as if she had actually measured his inseam, and read the measurement as fast as possible.
    “There! Done. Simple.” She handed the saleswoman the tape and thanked her. “Now, we know what size to get you.” The woman walked away, tossing a narrow-eyed gaze over her shoulder.
    “Ah! My tailor usually places his tape to the inside of my lower limb, and that is what I imagined the woman thought to do. I see that has changed. I apologize if my response seemed melodramatic.”
    Phoebe grinned. “Oh, no, we still measure the same way, but I thought you’d flip out if I did that, so I guessed at your measurements. It will be all right. We’re just getting you a pair of jeans this morning.”
    “Flip out?” Reggie lifted his chin, one eyebrow raised.
    “You know what I mean, Reggie. Don’t act like you don’t. Come on, we’re running out of time.” She grabbed a pair of jeans from a nearby table, a shirt from a rack and sent him into the dressing room. “Just change into the clothes. I’ll pay for them while you’re changing. Wait! I think I’d better get you some underwear while we’re at it. Oh, man, we need shoes, too!”
    Phoebe rushed over to the men’s underwear department carrying the clothing, and Reggie followed. She was definitely out of her league now, having never bought underwear for a man before. Which? Briefs? Shorts? Boxers?
    “See anything you like?” she asked. Reggie picked up a packet and eyed it with a raised eyebrow.
    “Is this what I am meant to do? Is this then a male model?”
    Phoebe couldn’t hold back her laugh. “No, no.” She shook her head but then nodded. “Well, yes, that is a male model, but not a ‘cover model.’ I suppose he’s called an underwear model. No, Reggie, that’s not what I meant.” She bent over in a peal of laughter.
    “Phoebe...” Reggie warned. “You laugh at my expense again.”
    Phoebe tried to stop. “I’m sorry, Reggie. I really am. But this is really awkward. I don’t think you’ll be buying those underwear anyway.” Reggie held a package of thongs in his hand.
    “Here, let’s buy two kinds, and you can try them both on and decide for yourself. We’ll just keep the other pair.” She grabbed a package of conventional white briefs and a package of boxers. “Come on. Shoes!”
    She raced over to the shoe department, luckily nearby. “Sneakers, trainers, athletic shoes, whatever they call them these days. That’s what we’re getting.” She found a shoe-measuring device. “Take your boots off and stick your feet in there. I’ll measure your feet.”
    “What the deuce is that? It resembles a trap. Is it painful?”
    Phoebe pressed her lips together and shook her head in answer to his question. A million thoughts ran through her mind at the moment—how adorable Reggie was, how confusing the present must be for a time traveler, and how the shoe-measuring device really did look like it might be painful to someone who had never used one. She wondered if she was expected to kneel down and help him remove his boots. Not that she minded.
    Reggie settled the question for her by taking a seat on a nearby bench and deftly removing his boots on his own. Of course! He had taken them off the night before to bathe and sleep. She noted he wore thick white stockings.
    He gingerly settled his right foot into the device, and Phoebe bent down to measure his foot. Size eleven. She measured the other foot, and then rose to look for shoes.
    “Okay, try these on.” She opened a box with a pair of white athletic shoes and held out the right shoe. Reggie reached for it and studied it with interest.
    “You call these sneakers?”
    “Or athletic shoes. I think the British call them trainers.”
    “This term ‘sneakers’ is intriguing. Why are they called such?”
    Phoebe glanced at her watch. Why hadn’t she given them more time, told Annie they would meet her later? Reggie had so many