I turn slowly on my stool, amused.
“I’m fine,” I say with a small laugh. “Just getting ready for a date.”
“Oh my god.” She breathes, then slowly lowers herself to sit on the edge of the bed like her knees just gave out. “Wow. That’s so normal. You really threw my drama sensors for a loop.”
Her eyes flit to the wardrobe, where the two dresses hang side by side. She points dramatically.
“Wait. This is the thing? You needed help picking a dress for a date?”
I nod, sucking in a breath. My heartbeat thuds a little harder.
Missy narrows her eyes, and her lips twitch like she’s holding back a grin. “… with Ford, right?” Her tone is casual, but her gaze is anything but.
“Yeah … that’s the other reason I wanted to see you,” I mumble, worrying my lip. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how you’d feel about it. I hope it’s oka–”
“Stormy!” She cuts me off, beaming. “Of course, it’s okay!”
She leaps up and hugs me around the shoulders from behind, careful not to smudge my makeup, arms squeezing like she’s trying to physically pump reassurance into my chest.
“I knew he had a thing for you,” she says, grinning at our reflection in the mirror. “And then he asked me last night if I could cover the feedings tonight, and I was like …. uhh yeah.”
I laugh, releasing a breath, and I lean back into her touch.
“Y’know I’m already planning the wedding playlist, right?”
I groan through a smile.
“Missy. Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just a date.”
“Sure,” she says breezily, already heading toward the dresses with purposeful flair. “And I’m just a casual bystander with no opinions.”
She holds up the black one first.
“Okay … this is spicy. You’ll look like you came here to ruin his life in the best way.”
I try not to spontaneously combust under the blush crawling across my skin.
“But …” She turns to the pink dress and lifts it gently, eyes softening. “This one’s you. It’s romantic and quiet and strong. It doesn’t shout, it feels. And Ford’s gonna melt into a puddle.”
I glance at it, fingers brushing the fabric.
“You really think so?”
“I do.” Then she gasps dramatically. “Also, weird realisation: I’m choosing a dress for someone to potentially seduce my brother. That’s a weird level of emotional involvement and … I think I need a drink immediately.”
I laugh, fully embarrassed, but grateful that she is okay with this.
After she helps me change into the dress, Missy moves to stand behind me at the dressing table and curls soft waves into my hair, humming to herself.
I glance at the lipstick.
“Should I wear it?”
She tilts her head, considering.
“Honestly? I think he likes you natural. You’re the breath of fresh air on a dusty day. Lipstick feels like overkill.” She reaches across the table, finds my shimmer balm, and dips her fingertip into it. Then she dabs it gently onto my lips with the same care she’ giving the curls in my hair.
She gently twists another section of my hair around the curling wand with slower, more deliberate movement. The hum she’d been singing fades, replaced by a thoughtful quiet.
