The boutique on Oak Street was small but well-curated, the kind of place where the owner knew everyone by name and remembered what you'd bought nine months ago. Sophie greeted the owner, Margaret, who was probably seventy but dressed like she was forty, with a hug and immediately explained their mission.
"First date. Coffee. Needs to look put-together but not trying too hard. Casual but still makes an effort. What do we have?"
Margaret's eyes lit up. "Oh, I have the perfect thing. Come with me."
For the next hour, Rachel tried on various combinations while Sophie and Margaret debated the merits of each outfit like generals planning a military campaign. Too casual. Too formal. Wrong color. Right color but wrong fit. Finally, they settled on a soft pink sweater; cashmere blend, softer than anything Rachel owned, that Sophie insisted brought out her coloring, paired with dark jeans that actually fit properly instead of the comfortable-but-shapeless ones Rachel usually wore. The boots were practical but still cute, with just enough of a heel to be flattering without being impractical.
"Perfect," Sophie declared, stepping back to admire the final result. "You look like you. Just... the best version of you."
Rachel looked at herself in the mirror. Sophie was right. She looked... okay. Put together. Confident, even. Like someone who could go on a date without falling apart.
"It's expensive," Rachel said, checking the price tags and wincing.
"You're worth it," Sophie said firmly. "And confidence starts with feeling good about how you look. Trust me on this."
Rachel glanced at her reflection one more time. The sweater was soft. The jeans fit perfectly.
"Okay," she said finally. "Okay, I'll take it."
Margaret rang her up while Sophie chatted about the date, offering unsolicited, but surprisingly helpful advice. By the time they left, Rachel had a shopping bag full of new clothes, a slightly lighter bank account, and something that might have been hope fluttering in her chest.
Rachel got home at nine-thirty carrying her shopping bag and feeling emotionally exhausted. Mr. Darcy, her orange tabby cat, greeted her at the door with an accusatory meow that clearly conveyed his displeasure at her late arrival and the fact that his dinner was thirty minutes behind schedule.
"I know, I know. I'm late." Rachel scooped him up, burying her face in his soft fur. "I have a date tomorrow. With a hockey player. Yes, I'm possibly insane."
Mr. Darcy's purr intensified despite his apparent annoyance.
Rachel fed him his evening meal and changed into comfortable sweatpants and an old college t-shirt. She tried reading the newest Louise Penny novel but gave up after the third time reading the same page without absorbing a single word.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Unknown:Hi Rachel, it's Mac. Got your number from Cole (who got it from Ellie. I hope that's okay). Just wanted to confirm. Tomorrow, 2 PM, Sophie's Café?
Rachel stared at the text. He was checking in. Making sure she hadn't changed her mind. Being thoughtful.
She saved his number and typed back: Yes. 2 PM. See you then.
Mac responded almost immediately: Great! Looking forward to it. Sleep well.
Rachel smiled despite her nerves. Then her phone buzzed again.
Mom calling...
Rachel stared at her mother's name on the screen, her thumb hovering over the decline button. She hadn't talked to her family in weeks. Not since the last time her mother had "just been checking in" which had really been code for "your sister ran into Brad's mom at the grocery store and apparently he's doing really well and seeing someone seriously now, isn't that nice?"
She let it go to voicemail.
Immediately, a text came through.
Mom:Hi honey! I wanted to chat. Call me when you can. Love you!
Rachel set the phone face-down on the coffee table. She knew that tone. That cheerful, casual tone that meant her mother had heard something. Probably about Brad.
She wasn't doing this. Not tonight. Not before tomorrow.
She went through her evening routine on autopilot, laid out her new outfit on the chair, and climbed into bed. Mr. Darcy was already curled up on her pillow.
"I can’t believe I have a date tomorrow," she told him.
