“All right,” she says. “Let’s fix you up.”
Three hours later, I’m staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the person looking back.
The green dress fits perfectly—vintage seventies-style with bell sleeves and a wrap waist that’s somehow both bohemian and elegant. Jessa convinced me to wear my hair down in loose waves instead of my usual ponytail. Minimal makeup but enough to make my eyes look less like I’ve been fighting back tears over rejection letters.
I look…good?
Not Maya-level stunning. Not “professional hockey player’s girlfriend” polished.
But good.
Like maybe I could pass for a girl who deserves to be on Brody’s arm.
Maybe.
“You look amazing,” Jessa says from the doorway. She’s holding my coat. “Seriously. He’s going to lose his mind.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“Right. Just dinner.” She winks dramatically.
The doorbell rings.
My stomach flips.
“That’s him.” Jessa grins. “Deep breaths. You’ve got this.”
I grab my purse and head for the door.
Deep breaths.
It’s just dinner.
Professional.
Transactional.
Nothing to panic about.
I open the door.
Brody’s standing there in dark jeans and a moss-green sweater that makes his eyes look impossibly blue, holding flowers—actual flowers. Not just a sunflower this time, but a small bouquet of white roses and eucalyptus—and he’s so gorgeous I can’t breathe.
“Hi,” he says.
My brain short-circuits. “Hi.”
He’s staring at me. Not saying anything. And something painfully delicious and not at all professional flashes in his eyes.
Stop that!
“You look—” He stops. Swallows. “Wow.”
My face flushes. “Thanks. You too. I mean—not wow. Well, yes, wow. But—you look nice.”
Smooth, Chloe. Very smooth.
He holds out the flowers. “These are for you.”
