***
The general store sits at the edge of the tiny town we rely on to service our basic needs. It’s squat and old and full of a random selection of items. When we walk inside, Joelle hesitates just past the threshold, fingers gripping her elbows, eyes scanning the narrow aisles with dread.
“You good?” I ask softly.
She nods, but her voice betrays her. “I haven’t bought new clothes since before Caleb was born. What I’ve been wearing I got from the thrift store when I was pregnant. I don’t know my size. And dresses…” She trails off, swallowing hard. “Sometimes they don’t fit right.”
It hits me then. She isn’t just worried about how much the clothes will cost, but what she’ll look like in them.
“Joelle,” I say, stepping close enough that my voice stays between us, “I like the way you look in everything you wear. And I mean everything. Your curves are beautiful. You’re beautiful. There’s nothing in this store that could make you look anything less.”
Her gaze lifts, wide and startled, like she wasn’t ready for that much honesty.
I gesture toward the rack. “Pick whatever you feel good in. And if you’re not sure, I’ll tell you the truth. You have my word.”
She nods slowly, then reaches for a dress—soft cotton, dusty blue with a tie at the waist—and presses it to her body like she’s testing the idea of herself in it.
“You wanna try it on?” I ask.
Her lips part, uncertainty flickering. “You’ll wait?”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” I promise.
She steps into the makeshift dressing corner— a curtain hung on a rod—and I sit on the bench outside, listening to the soft rustle of fabric, the faint exhale of her breath.
Then the curtain pulls back.
And my heart damn near stops.
The dress hugs every curve of her body in the most perfect way, the soft fabric gliding over her wide hips. A cinched waist highlights her curves, and the neckline tat frames her collarbones and the tantalizing swell of her breasts without showing too much. She stands, shifting on her feet, biting her lip, eyes down, like she’s bracing for harsh words.
“Jo,” I whisper, finally finding my voice. “Come here.”
She steps forward, uncertain.
“You look…” I shake my head, not even embarrassed when the words catch. “You look stunning.”
Her breath shivers out, her cheeks flushing deep. “It’s not too tight?”
“It better be tight,” I murmur, letting my hand hover near her waist without touching. “That’s the point. I want to see your shape. You deserve to wear clothes that show how beautiful you are, not hide it.”
She meets my eyes then, and warmth and brightness moves through her like she’s letting herself believe me.
“It’s perfect,” I say simply. “You’re perfect.”
She blinks fast, like she might cry, then steps back behind the curtain to remove the dress. While she’s in thechanging room, I gather up a few other items and take them to her. “Try these,” I say. “If you like them, we can get them.”
“It’s too much,” she whispers.
“Try them or Wade’ll give us both shit for not shopping enough.”
She shrugs, taking the plaid blouse, blue and white tank tops, and a pair of pale blue pants with a simple tie at the waist—the best garments available from the small selection. I wait close to the curtain, watching other customers browse the aisles. After a few minutes, Joelle whispers my name around the curtain.
“What is it, sugar?” I ask.
She glances side to side, finding no one near. “I’m leaking, Caleb. Can you—can you help?”
I look around, confirming no one is heading our way, and slip into the changing room beside her.
