I blink.“Shopping?”
“You need clothes,” she says, already halfway up the steps,“and I happen to be an expert in retail therapy.”
“Penny, I can’t,” I say quickly, heat blooming up my neck.“I don’t have the money right now. I’ll be fine.”
“You helped me when I had nothing,” she says, cutting me off before I can argue further.“You didn’t think twice. Let me return the favor.”
I shake my head, embarrassed.“It’s different.”
“It’s not,” she says softly, her brows lifting.“You lost everything, Summer. Let someone help you.”
My throat tightens. I look down at my hands, still red and tender around the knuckles from the fire, and nod.“Okay. Just a few things.”
“Perfect.” She beams, her energy warm enough to fill the porch.“Now go grab your phone and something warm. It’s freezing out here.”
I hurry upstairs and glance at my closet, where one of Ethan’s hoodies sits folded neatly, the one he’d dropped off this morning. I slip it over my head before I can talk myself out of it. It’s soft, sky blue, and smells faintly of him. Woodsmoke, pine, and something warm that feels like safety. The scent wraps around me like a memory I’m not ready to unpack.
Penny’s eyes narrow with mischief when she sees me come back down.“Nice hoodie.”
“It’s warm,” I mumble.
“Mmm-hmm.” She’s still smiling when we walk toward her car, just as Ethan gets out of his truck. He looks up as we pass, his gaze finding mine with that quiet, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. My pulse stumbles.
“Have fun, ladies,” he calls.
“Bye, Ethan,” I say, not trusting myself to meet his eyes again.
Penny tries to hide her grin as we pull onto the road.“So,” she says, drawing the word out,“Ethan, huh?”
I sigh, leaning my head against the cold window.“We’ve talked about this.”
“You talked about avoiding him,” she corrects,“not about how you look at him.”
“Penny…”
“Fine.” She laughs softly.“I’ll drop it. For now.”
I smile despite myself. The radio hums a low country song, soft and steady, and outside, the winter fields glow pale under the sun, endless, quiet, familiar.
The mall smells like perfume and warm fabric, bright and glossy under winter lights. Penny loops her arm through mine, tugging me with her unstoppable energy.
“You’re gonna love this place,” she says, steering me toward a boutique that looks too polished for someone in borrowed sweatpants and Ethan’s hoodie.
“Penny, they won’t have my size,” I mumble, tugging the sleeves over my hands.
“Sweetheart,” she says, holding the door open,“your size exists. It’s just been waiting for you to stop apologizing for it.”
Inside, racks of color surround me, soft reds, creamy whites, deep greens. Instinct leads me straight to the loose clothes like muscle memory. I pull a dark green cardigan off the rack.
Penny plucks it right out of my hands.“Absolutely not. We’re done with the clothes that were made to cover you instead of compliment you.”
“They’re slimming,” I argue.
“They’re hiding,” she says firmly.“And you’ve been hiding long enough.”
She reaches for a deep wine-colored winter coat, belted at the waist.“Try this. The belt will show off your shape.”
I hesitate but slip it on. The fabric settles around me, structured yet soft. I tie the belt, and the mirror stares back. For once, the woman in it doesn’t look like she’s shrinking.
