I open the first box. Red-soled pumps that would elevate my navy dress. The second holds strappy gold sandals, delicate and impractical and gorgeous. The third is a pair of classic black stilettos that look like they could double as weapons.
By the fifth box, I'm laughing. By the eighth, I'm crying. By the twelfth, I'm doing both, sitting cross-legged on the floor of my tiny apartment surrounded by more beautiful shoes than I've owned in my entire life.
He guessed my size. Noticed what styles would suit me. Yesterday, he saw my feet hurt and did something about it.
James never noticed anything. Not when I changed my hair, not when I lost weight from stress, not when I stopped smiling. He looked at me every day for three years and never really saw me.
Kai has known me for weeks and already pays more attention than James ever did.
I grab my phone and snap a photo of myself in the middle of the chaos. Hair still damp. Eyes red and puffy. Mascara from yesterday smeared across my cheekbone. And the biggest, stupidest smile on my face.
I send it to Kai before I can overthink it.
Me: You shouldn't have. I mean it. This is insane. Also thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.
My phone rings fifteen seconds later.
“I was going to let you get ready for work,” he says, voice deep and warm, “but you sent me that photo and I needed to hear your voice.”
I laugh, the sound still watery. “I look like a disaster.”
“You look perfect.” A pause. “Are you happy?”
The question is so simple, so earnest, it cracks something open. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I really am.”
“Good. That's all I wanted.” His voice drops. “This is just the beginning, Emma. Let me show you what it feels like to be my girl.”
I press the phone to my ear like I can hold him closer through it. “Kai...”
“I didn't mean to push.” A beat. “Get ready for work. Wear the lower heels, give your feet a break.”
“Funny.” I'm grateful he gave me a way out. I'm not ready to talk about feelings. Yet.
“You're going to wear the highest ones.”
“Of course! They're amazing, and they feel so soft. I need to test them thoroughly.”
He chuckles, and the sound warms me. “Have a great day. I'll be focused on work, but call me if you need anything.”
“Do your thing. Try to take a break now and then.”
I hang up and press the phone to my chest.
No one has ever wanted to take care of me before. Not really. My parents loved me, but they had their own struggles. James wanted me to take care ofhim. Every relationship I've had hasbeen about what I could give, what I could sacrifice, what I could shrink myself into.
Kai doesn't want me to shrink. He expands my world.
I forward the photo to Zoe with no context. Her response is a voice memo of pure, unhinged screaming, followed by seventeen text messages in rapid succession.
Zoe: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK EMMA SINCLAIR ARE THOSE LOUBOUTIN IS THAT A JIMMY CHOO BOX HOW MANY PAIRS WHO WHEN I NEED DETAILS IMMEDIATELY CALL ME NO WAIT DON'T CALL ME I'LL BE IN A MEETING TEXT ME EVERYTHING ACTUALLY CALL ME I'LL LEAVE THE MEETING THIS IS MORE IMPORTANT
I laugh so hard I snort, which makes me laugh harder. Zoe's chaos is exactly what I needed. A reminder that I have people in my corner. That I'm not navigating this alone.
I text her back.
Me: His name is Kai. I'll tell you everything at lunch.
Her response is a string of emojis I can't decipher, but I'm pretty sure they include fire, a wedding ring, and at least three screaming faces.
