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mouth. “I was passing by when I saw you go into the dressing room to change. I thought I might be able to offer some assistance.”
    “How kind of you,” Samirah said, her voice edged with sarcasm, “but I don’t need any assistance.”
    “It would be helpful to get a male point of view, don’t you think?” He asked the question in Spanish and looked at the shop owner for concurrence, which she readily offered.
    “Another opinion is always helpful,” the woman said, watching them with interest.
    Helpful for whom? Samirah wanted to know. Miguel said something to the woman in Quichua, the second most popular language spoken in Ecuador . It dated back to the time of the Incas, and Samirah didn’t speak a word of it. The woman laughed and responded to him.
    “What did you say to her?” Samirah demanded.
    “Nothing important.”
    “It is important, or you would have said it in Spanish so I could understand. It’s very rude of you to speak in another language so I can’t understand.”
    He spoke again to the boutique owner, and she giggled. She said a few words back to him, bestowing a smile on both of them, similar to that of a doting grandmother.
    Samirah swung back to him and rolled her eyes. “Okay, what did you say that time?”
    “Well, if you must know…”
    “Yes, I must.”
    “I told her we had a lovers’ quarrel, and you’re angry with me, but I can help you pick your dress from here.”
    Samirah swung back to the woman, making sure to clutch the slipping gown to her chest to maintain coverage over her breasts. “ No es verdad . Él es un mentiroso .”
    He didn’t seem to mind that she called him a liar. He gave a self-deprecating shrug, as if to prove his point to the owner, and then spoke again in Quichua. The two of them carried on a conversation, none of which Samirah comprehended. She tapped her feet, waiting for them to finish. At the end of it, the boutique owner walked away.
    “Where is she going?”
    “She’s giving us some privacy. She’s a kind woman—a romantic.”
    “Did she understand you were lying to her when you told her we’re lovers?”
    “For some reason, she didn’t believe your accusation that I wasn’t telling the truth. I wonder why.”
    “Because whatever you said to her carried more weight than what I said.”
    “I am her countryman after all.” He moved closer, and Samirah pressed her heels into the carpet to keep from backing up.
    “Maybe this kind of behavior works on the women here, but it won’t on me.” At least she hoped not. Even though she maintained a look of steel, her resolve was dissolving faster than a cube of ice on hot coals.
    “You’d be surprised.” She wouldn’t, actually. “Now, let’s take a look at the dress.” He made a circular motion in the air with his forefinger, indicating she should do a twirl.
    “If you think,” Samirah said through thinned lips, “I’m going to prance around so you can ogle me, think again. I’m going somewhere else to shop.” She lifted her nose in the air and moved past him.
    “Don’t tell me this poor woman lost a sale because of me.”
    Samirah glanced at him over her shoulder. “You should’ve thought about that before you said what you did. I’m not modeling for you.”
    “Humor me.”
    “No.”
    “Don’t punish her because of my behavior. At least try on the other dresses.”
    Conflicted, Samirah glared at him. On the one hand, she hated shopping and didn’t want to have to deal with Miguel here to watch what she wore. On the other hand, if she didn’t pick an outfit today, she’d be stuck having to come back out to the mall, and she really did want to try on the other dresses. One of them might be the one. If she left and came back another time, they might be gone, and she’d have to start all over again.    
    “If I do this, and I come out and show them to you, do you promise to behave?”
    “As much as I can. I mean, yes.”
    With one final glare at him, Samirah