“Sure.”
Pulling open the door, I watch as Hudson enters. His size makes the already cramped space feel like we’re in a cupboard. No matter. Giving him my back, I point. “Zip me up?”
“Oh.” I glance at Hudson’s face in the mirror, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking down at my back. I hear a slow zzz sound as the zipper begin its ascent. Shockingly, it zips all the way up, and do you want to know something? Besides the fact that it actually fits, it looks okay.
“Wow. This looks amazing.” His hands slip around my waist. “Your waist is tiny.”
I snort because that’s ridiculous. “Nothing on me is tiny.”
His hand swats my butt. “None of that.” The swatting hand wraps around my waist again and rests on the front of my stomach, an area I’m very self-conscious about, but I don’t mind Hudson’s hand there. Strange.
“Seriously, Willa. This dress is beautiful on you.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I know he’s being honest with me. Sincere. “Thank you.”
“You should see if they have this in any other colors.”
“I could.”
“Red would be nice.”
“Red?” I’ve never worn a red dress in my life. Too flashy.
“Or yellow.”
Is he crazy?I’d look like a giant bee or something. But I keep that to myself.
“Maybe blue?” I smile. I like blue. “I can ask.”
The dress came in three colors: black, deep green, and a burnt orange hue. I wasn’t sure about the orange, but the clerk and Hudson assured me with my hair, eyes, and complexion that I’d look great.
Not only that, but the dresses were fifty percent off, so I felt like it was meant to be. Like Hudson.
On the way back to the car, I remind him, “I’ll pay you back.”
“I know you will.”
“Thank you for the shoes too.” He bought me a pair of flats that will go with all three dresses. “I’m set now.”
“Are you going to tell me about this mysterious meeting?”
“It’s not mysterious.” I’m just not all that proud of myself for calling in a favor––using my dad’s name like this. “After Dad died, lots of people from the department reached out, told me and mom that if we needed anything to give them a call.” I roll my eyes. “I know it’s just what people like to say.”
Frowning and shaking his head, Hudson interjects, “People say it because they mean it.”
Ignoring that, I continue, “Anyway, a few months ago, one of Dad’s old friends emailed me and told me they were looking for someone to assist with fundraising and event planning for the Chicago Fallen Officers Foundation.”
“Wow. That sounds like a rewarding job. Did you apply?”
“No. At the time, I was fine at McAllister, and I didn’t like the idea that I’d be using my dad to––”
Hudson’s hand goes up to stop me. “Wait—wait.”
I wait.
“Theyreached out toyou?”
“Yes.”
