“All right, what did you have in mind?”
He eyes me up and down, pretending to consider. “You’d make a spectacular sexy cop,” he says. “Or a sexy nurse. Maybe a sexy teacher.”
I snort. “Why do all women’s costumes end up being a sexy something?”
“Not all women.” He grins. “Just you.”
I laugh again as I continue my march toward the bored-looking attendant at the front of the store. As I fold my hands on the counter, the guy stares at me like he’s never seen a customer before.
“Hi there,” I say, pasting on the girl-next-door smile that always makes cashiers friendlier. “We’re interested in seeing what you have for couples’ costumes.”
The guy yawns. “For what day?”
“Tonight, actually.”
He grunts and taps a chewed-up pencil on the top of the cash register. “That ship sailed months ago,” he says. “You’re going to the Masquerade Escapade?”
I stare at him, confused. “The what?”
“Biggest costume ball on the West Coast. They’ve got forty different bands playing and people flying in from all over the country.”
“I—uh—no,” I say. “I’m going to the annual charity gala for the Special Needs Alliance. It’s a costume party they hold every year as a fund-raiser.”
The attendant shrugs. “Dunno. Guess they’re happening at the same time? Either way, there are no costumes.”
I whirl around and take in the naked mannequins, the empty racks. I was so busy talking with Ian when we walked in that I failed to notice the whole shop looks like a tornado took out its inventory. I turn back to the attendant. “I had no idea.”
Ian frowns. “So you’re saying you don’t have any costumes?”
The guy nods toward a lopsided mannequin wearing a crumpled cardboard box printed with the word Marlboro. “Only if she wants to go as a pack of smokes.” He eyes Ian up and down. “We don’t have anything in your size.”
Disappointment swells in my belly. I should have planned ahead, but how the hell did I know I’d end up with a last-minute date-slash-fiancé? And how the hell would I have guessed the charity gala would coincide with some big music festival?
I turn back to the cashier. “So we’re all out of options.”
“’Fraid so.” He offers me a sympathetic shrug. “Sorry.”
“No clearance rack stuff we can buy?” My voice sounds frantic now. “Or last-resort costumes tucked away in the back room somewhere?”
The guy stares at me, but doesn’t bother to respond.
Ian shrugs and holds out his arm. “Come on.”
I hesitate, casting a glance at one of the naked mannequins. “Where are we going?”
“I saw a Goodwill down the block. We can find stuff to make our own costumes.”
The conviction in Ian’s green eyes is enough to make me want to follow him anywhere. What is it about this guy that makes me feel totally fine about waving goodbye to old dreams and latching on to something new? I know we’re only talking about costumes here, but there’s something bigger bubbling between us. He knows it, I know it—it’s just a matter of whether we’ll take the next steps.
“All right,” I say, hooking my arm through his. “Let’s invent our own awesomeness.”
He grins down at me as we head to the door, and I wonder what the hell I’ve just agreed to.
Disco lights swirl around us, making dizzying patterns on the carpet as Ian and I stride through the doors of the ballroom. I scan the crowd for familiar faces, seeing plenty of them. Over the span of my career in Portland, I’ve volunteered for tons of organizations dedicated to supporting adults with disabilities. Half the people in this room have been my fellow board members at one time or another, and the other half are connected to families I’ve worked with over the years.
Have I mentioned I love my job?
I start forward, eager to have a glass of wine in hand before I begin the professional chit-chat.
