I smiled at the mental image of young Giselle strutting down the runway in nipple tape, a thong, and heels, owning it like the boss she was.
“It sounds like that program really boosted your confidence,” I said.
“Ha!” The force of her laugh nearly blew me back before she said, “Most dropped out within the first three weeks. They couldn’t handle the deadlines and critiques.”
“But that didn’t bother you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I rose to the challenge, threaded every stitch with conviction. Pivoted, when needed. I trusted my intuition to decide when to dig in and when to listen. Besides, you learn from failures more than any success.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.” It didn’t always feel like that, though. Especially in medicine. I started flipping through the bras for my size.
Giselle pushed a chunk of them aside at once. “Another lesson: always go up a cup size for nursing bras. Tenderness.” She gestured to her breasts with sage warning.
I took the suggestion, trying not to think about chafed boobs, especially my boss’s or Jen’s. It was kind of weird to try something on while on the clock, but at least I had Giselle’s approval. In the dressing room, I started to strip, but laughed at my exposed reflection.
This was ridiculous.
I was at work. Nipples out. For what?
Jen wouldn’t want to talk about her bra size. If she was still smaller than Kat, she’d throw a fit. It’d taken Mom a whole afternoon anda sugary treat just to get Jen to accept a size up in shoes.
I’d be better off getting them a cake. Mm…cake. It was hard not to think about with that vanilla-infused perfume on display.
After work, I called Mom for a ride and arranged for her to pick me up at The Cake Warehouse in another part of the mall. I followed my nose to the sweet aroma of frosting near the dessert case, wondering which flavor would be best for a baby shower.
Strawberry surprise. Chocolate cherry bomb. The dessert case glimmered with the reflection of a man with white, fluffy hair. I gasped and turned toward him.
Angel?
He slipped through the dinner crowd before I could get a good look at him. I hurried past the hostess desk, sticking close to a party being seated in a vain attempt to follow without being stopped or seen.
Was he here on a date? Did my perfume help him woo his beloved?
What kind of women would he fall in love with?
I stopped short in the aisle about ten feet away from him. He leaned on a table hosting a pretty woman in her forties.
“Hello, beautiful. Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
She gave him a sultry smile and shrugged out of her silk-lined coat. “I’ll take a sea breeze.”
“I’ll be right back with that.” He tapped the table as if he was playing himself off on a piano.
This was all too bizarre. Who picked someone up at their table in a restaurant? The waiter hadn’t even been by yet.
He turned, untucked a pencil from behind that arrow-pierced ear, and procured a small notepad from a short apron tied around his waist to write down her order.
Oh. My heart thumped in bewilderment.
Hewasthe waiter.
How long had he been juggling work and school, like me?
He glanced over, perhaps because I was openly staring, then did a double take, his eyes flashing in recognition.
Was he happy to see me? Or just in shock?
I managed an awkward smile and wave, my cheeks hot as I whispered a bashful, “Hi there.”
