“Say it,” I challenge, raising one eyebrow as the sleeves sway with each tiny movement.
“The dress is wearing you, not the other way around.” He circles me slowly, studying the monstrosity from all angles. “Though I suppose if a sudden cold front moves in during the reception, you could offer sleeve shelter to half the guests.”
I snort, catching my reflection. The sleeves do indeed look like quilted throw pillows attached to my arms. “That’s a no.”
Logan gives me a pity thumbs-up. “Points for the color, at least. Brings out the green in your eyes.”
His casual observation makes me happier than it should, and I brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“One more to go,” I say, fleeing back into the changing room before he can see the pink in my face.
The navy blue silk slides cool against my skin as I slip it on. Unlike the previous two duds, this one seems almost made for me. The fabric hugs my waist before flowing gracefully to the floor, the slit offering just enough movement without venturing into scandalous territory. The neckline makes me a little self-conscious, but I can manage.
When I step out, Logan straightens from his casual lean against the wall. His usual smirk fades. “Okay,” he says, nodding slowly. “That’s the one.”
“Really?” I spin once in front of the mirror, watching how the fabric catches light as it moves. The woman reflected back seems more elegant than the elementary teacher who spends her days wiping runny noses and teaching musical notes.
Logan steps closer, his gaze holding mine in the mirror. “Let’s see if you can dance in it.”
Before I can protest, he takes my hand and pulls me into the center of the empty dressing area. One hand slides to my waist while the other keeps hold of mine. Then he starts swaying to a rhythm only he seems to hear, and I follow.
“You’re pretty good at this,” I say, trying not to trip over my own feet or the dress’s hem.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he replies. His hand feels warm and secure against mine. “Though I guess you’ve got rhythm, being a teacher and all.”
I shake my head. “Pretty sure that’s not a requirement.”
“Still,” he says, spinning me gently out, then back in with unexpected grace, “you move well.”
My breath catches as he guides me into and out of his space, then back in again. The truth is, it’s not me that moves well—he’s just a great leader. His confidence makes me better somehow, like the dress makes me look more elegant than I really am. Something about this moment feels . . . dangerous. Like we’re teetering on the edge of forgetting why we’re doing this in the first place.
The memory of him touching my face this morning surfaces, and suddenly I feel feverish. I need to change the subject to keep from dwelling on his touch.
“Did you really knock over flowerpots?”
The space between his brows creases with two lines. “What?”
“On the radio they said you knocked over flowerpots over some argument.” His expression shifts, reminding me of a kid last year who got caught breaking a vase. “You totally did!”
“What they failed to mention on the radio,” Logan begins, “is the Good Samaritan who sent replacements. Dozens of them.”
“That does not excuse your behavior.”
We stop swaying, and his arm curls tighter around my hips as he pulls me closer than I’ve ever been to him, making me gulp. “What are you, the moral police now?”
“Someone has to reign you in.”
His lips kink in a crescent moon. “How is this for reigning someone in?”
To my complete and utter astonishment, as if I gave him permission, he leans in for a kiss, but my hand instinctively flies between our mouths in time to stop his advance. “You’reunbelievable.” I wiggle out of his possessive embrace and step back. “What in the good green Earth gave you the impression that I wanted to be kissed just now?”
“Relax. Just wanted to see your reaction.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you in the balls.”
Logan scratches the back of his head, face scrunching as he no doubt pictures it. “Thanks for holding back.”
I have no words, just a shake of my head as I step over to the mirror. He’s just as I imagined him to be, but the dress really is beautiful, transformative even. And then my eyes catch the price tag dangling from under my arm.
