“You enjoy playing dress up with me way too much, Blake.”
“Can you blame me? And don’t pretend you don’t like it as much as I do.”
Well, there’s no arguing with facts. Sometimes I wonder how different life would have been if I had a sister instead of a brother. I wouldn’t change Brady for all the money in the world, but I’d like to think that it would have been a hell of a lot like this.
If this girl is one thing, she is dedicated. I’m not sure there’s an item in this store I haven’t tried on by the time we leave. The total at the end had my eyes watering, but Blakely just tapped her card to pay like it was nothing. “Thank you. Seriously. I’ve never had anything even close to this nice before.” My throat is thick, making the words come out heavy.
“Don’t mention it. Let’s combine these bags so we don’t have a lot to carry, okay?”
Once everything is all together, we toss the bags in a nearby recycling bin and argue about our next destination. “You need an outfit. Don’t be silly.”
I glare at her, not that it fazes her in the slightest. “You’ve spent enough money on me today.”
“And? How does that negate my point? C’mon. There’s this great spot, like, three blocks away that sells absolutely divine men’s clothing. I buy stuff for Landon there all the time.”
“Do you find comfort knowing that ninety-nine percent of men have nightmares about you?”
She laughs, musical and bright. “Immensely, because they could never afford me. Landon can, though, so that’s all that matters.”
“Cheers to that, I guess.”
So off we go to another store where we shove all the looming threats to the side and try to live in the moment. Blake operates like a heat seeking missile, zeroing in on the items that she finds worthy of a try-on. While none of them I’d pick out myself, I can appreciate that she has impeccable taste and a talent for finding stuff that is stylish without toeing the line of giving me a public panic attack. I’ve come a long way in the last few months, but I’m not nearly confident enough to pull some of this off.
She claps her hands as I fight not to fidget. “Ooohhh, that looks so hot on you. Spin around. Let me see the back.”
I do as requested, feeling heat climb up my neck. “It’s very sheer,” I mutter to no one in particular.
The sales associate, who most likely can smell money, very kindly brings a pair of shoes to compliment Blake’s pick and a couple of bottles of water. “These would look lovely with those pants.”
“I love those. Try them on, Eas. They look like your size.”
She brings them over, and I know better than to argue. They are super comfortable, though. “Thanks,” I say softly to the young girl.
“You look great.” Her response thaws a bit of the skepticism beginning to take root. I know it’s her job to say things like that, but for some reason, I believe her.
Blakely thanks her by name when she walks off to go check another customer out, and I offhandedly wonder how much she shops here.
When my friend joins me in front of the floor-length mirror, standing behind me and adjusting the collar, the last of mynerves dissipate. “It’s not for you if you don’t feel good in it. Full stop.”
I shake my head. “It’s not the clothes. I do like them. It’s a me issue. I’m trying to get over it.” Preparing for a day to showcase my art—that I’m not sure I’ll have ready in time—and that I’m certain Aaron won’t allow it to happen, has me feeling all kinds of squirmy. That doesn’t even touch the dozens of insecurities lurking under the surface about strangers critiquing something I’m really proud of in the privacy of my makeshift studio.
“It’s okay to be all over the place about this, babes. But we’re going to figure this out, one way or the other. All you need to worry about right now is staying in the zone and creating pieces that you are entirely in love with. Everything else will come out in the wash before it can interfere with your big day.”
“I don’t know if I can, but I’m gonna try,” I tell her, and mean it.
That knowing look in her eye doesn’t escape my notice, but she doesn’t press further. “So is this the winner or do you wanna keep looking?”
“Nah, this is it.”
After changing back into my normal clothes, we decide that there’s really nothing left to do but to go home. I should be working anyway, but it was more important to give Asher a day of rest when presented with the opportunity. I just hope he’s not in too much pain. At some point, your brain gives you reprieve and slips away from being able to feel it. Well, it did for me, and I want that for him something terrible.
I know he’s hurting, Aaron has given me more than enough proof. Is it evil for hoping that it’s either manageable or so much that he’s stopped feeling it? My money wouldn’t be on it being within a bearable range, though, and the thought sits heavy in my stomach like lead. Whatever it takes for him to still be here I guess will have to be good enough. I’d give anything to be ableto tell him to just hang on. That we’re coming for him. That he hasn’t been forgotten.
We walk side by side in comfortable silence on the way home, but I’d be lying if I said my ears weren’t perked up, searching for something that doesn’t come. “Think they missed us?” Blake asks as she unlocks the door.
Before I can answer, we walk in to be greeted by their familiar bickering coming from the kitchen. Blake and I share a knowing grin. “Honey, I’m home,” she calls.
“Oh, thank fuck,” one of them says. Most likely Chase.
