“Okay…” She doesn’t seem convinced.
She gives me a look.
Not mean.
Not kind.
Just… assessing.
“Mmm,” she hums.
Something tightens in my chest.
Who is she to judge my relationship?
“Oh my god,” she says suddenly, clapping her hands once. “We need to get you a new bathing suit.”
And just like that—the subject is changed.
I blink. “What?”
“And clothes,” she continues breezily. “Honestly, Beth, we need to update your whole look.”
I laugh, thinking she’s joking.
She isn’t.
“Meet me after work,” she says, already standing. “It’s non-negotiable.”
I watch her toss a bill on the table like this lunch was never really about food.
As she walks away, heels clicking confidently down Newbury Street, I realize something with a cold little twist in my stomach;
This wasn’t a friendly lunch.
It was an interview.
And I’m not sure I passed.
After work, Sage is… nice again.
Like nothing sharp happened at lunch. Like we didn’t just sit across from each other while she mentally rearranged my life.
It’s whiplash-inducing.
“Beth, honey,” she says, looping her arm through mine as we step onto Newbury Street, all smiles and sunshine. “You’re cute—dare I say pretty—but you could use a little spicing up. Like we did in Plymouth.”
I laugh awkwardly. “I don’t really like to show a lot of skin.”
She stops short and turns to me, perfectly manicured finger lifted.
“No, no, no. I didn’t say slutty,” she says gently, like she’s correcting a child. “There’s a difference between slutty and sexy.”
Before I can respond, she’s already pulling me into the first boutique.
From there, it’s a blur of color and music and mirrors.
She lifts a hot pink bikini off a rack. Tilts her head. Puts it back.
