“Spreadsheets are important,” Holland states, turning to inspect himself in the three-way mirror. “How else would I keep track of my growing empire?”
“Empire?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling your fantasy football league now?”
Holland turns back to me, grinning. “Laugh it up. You’re just jealous you weren’t drafted into greatness.”
“Oh, yeah, devastated,” I reply, mock dramatic. “Anyway, the suit’s fine, but it’s notyou. Too serious,” I shrug.
He frowns, tugging at the lapels. “I can do serious.”
“You couldn’t do serious if you tried,” I tell him, leaning back with a smirk. I don’t think Holland’s ever been serious a day in his life. That’s just not his personality. The only time he can be serious is when he’s playing rugby, or when he’s threatening to beat people up for looking at Ellie the wrong way.
“Challenge accepted,” he says, his tone dropping to an overly stern voice. He strikes a stiff pose. “I am here to negotiate world peace.”
I burst out laughing, not able to contain it. I slap a hand over my mouth. “Stop! You look like you’re about to fire someone.”
“Maybe I am,” he teases, gesturing to me. “Starting with you.”
“You couldn’t afford to fire me,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “Who else would tell you when you look ridiculous?”
“Fair point,” Holland admits, disappearing back into the fitting room. “What’s next on your list of sartorial demands, Your Highness?”
I shrug, sinking back into the couch. The suit he had on was hot as hell, but it was missing something. It wasn’t him. “Something less funereally, more weddingy.”
Holland’s voice comes through the curtain. “Weddingy?” he questions. I fold my arms over my chest, even though he can’t see me.
“Yes. Weddingy.”
“I don’t think that’s a word in the dictionary,” Holland calls back, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Don’t question me, Monroe. I know what I’m saying.”
“Woah there, killer,” Holland says as he steps back out from the fitting room. “Remind me why I brought you?” he asks, his lips pulled up into a smirk.
My breath hitches, and my heart begins to race in a way that shouldn’t be possible. It was perfect. The jacket hugs his shoulders in just the right way, and the fit is much less funereally. He looks… delicious. Oh, shut up, Lainey. He’s a pain in the ass, and he’s annoying.
“Well?” he inquires, his grin growing wider, probably because I look like I’m ready to pounce on him.Shit. “Does this one fit your outrageous standards, Lainey Bug?”
I blink, regaining my composure. “It’s… alright.”
“Alright?” he repeats, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s all I get? Alright?”
I shrug, trying to look unimpressed. “I guess you clean upalright.”
His head tilts to one side, like he’s studying me. “Has anyone ever told you that you suck at compliments?”
“I’m just honest,” I reply, standing and making my way over to him. I don’t know why I’m moving toward him, but for some reason I can’t stop myself. “But yeah, this one works.”
When I’m right in front of him, I brush an imaginary piece of lint off one of the sleeves, and when I look up, Holland is looking at me.
The fun, lighthearted air between us shifts, and suddenly I’m very aware of how close we’re standing. He must feel the weird energy too, because he stiffens a bit.
I clear my throat and step back, shoving my hands in my hoodie pocket so I can’t make any stupid moves.
“So, are we good to go? I have to get home. Ellie needs me,” I tell him, starting to walk out of the room.
“Uh, yeah. We’re good to go,” he states, walking back toward the fitting room and calls over his shoulder, “I’m holding you responsible if I look better than the groom.”
“Not a chance,” I shoot back, continuing my way back to the front of the shop to wait for him.
