“I like it.” And I do. It’s got a slight shimmer to it, with butterflies stitched around the slit in the side. “I’ll go ask about a dressing room. Keep looking.”
I take the dresses from her and leave her to browse the racks while I find an employee and secure a room for her.
By the time I locate Halle in the store again, she’s found one more possibility.
I take it from her, then grasp her hand. “Dressing rooms are this way.” I lead her through the maze of racks to the back and point out the room where the otherdresses are waiting.
She comes to a stop, scrutinizing the little cubicles, her lip caught between her teeth.
“Go on,” I encourage, parking my butt in an empty chair. “I’ll be right here.”
With a small smile, she disappears behind the curtain, the swoosh of fabric blocking me out.
A moment later, a muffled “oh my God” comes from the dressing room.
I straighten, eager to see her, but slump again when she adds, “Absolutely not. I’m not even showing you.”
“Come on, Hal.” I rest an ankle on one knee. “Let me see.”
She snorts. “Not a chance, buddy.”
“Halle.” My voice is stern. “I’m about to be your husband. Don’t call me buddy.”
For a moment, I’m met with silence. But then her fingers slowly appear around the curtain, and she pulls it back just enough to poke her head out.
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with her lips slightly parted.
“Something wrong, baby?” I ask, leaning back in the chair.
She shakes her head like she’s clearing away the fog in her brain. “No, it’s just… I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the sound of that.”
“Sound of what?” I grin, already knowing what she means.
“Husband,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “You’re going to be my husband.”
A thrill shoots through me. “Yes, I am, sweetheart.”
She disappears back behind the curtain. The dress she tried but refuses to let me see hits the floor, and she tries another. This time she throws the curtain back and steps out.
It’s flowy, with long sleeves and a slit up one leg. She looks stunning in it, but that’s not what matters. I only care about how she feels in it.
“It’s an option.” She decides as she inspects her reflection in the wall of mirrors. “Do you like it?”
“I like you in anything you wear.”
She rolls her eyes at my answer. “So diplomatic.”
When she steps out again, wearing another long-sleeve option with a bow on the back, I know right away she’s not a fan.
The frown is a dead giveaway, but she turns to me anyway. “What do you think of this one?”
“It’s a no.”
“Why?” she presses, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Because you don’t like it.”
Her mouth pops open. “How can you tell?”
