“Don’t be silly,” Fraser says. “We love when you waffle on. Especially about things that make your eyes go all sparkly like a cartoon character. You’rereallyinto fashion, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been obsessed with it since I was a kid.” I hang the coat back up sadly. It’s adorable, but it’s too girly and vintage for my brand, and I couldn’t wear it in pictures. I have millions of coats back home.
“Tell us,” Alec orders.
I scoff. “You don’t want to know all that.”
“I want to know everything about you,” he says simply. “Tell us. Please.”
I look up at him. His eyes glow under the fluorescents. My heart stammers. “Are you begging me?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
“Tell us,Summer.”
So I do. As we trail through the racks, I tell them about how, as a kid, I’d collect magazines and cut out my favourite tops and dresses and skirts, meticulously pasting them into outfits in a sketchbook I called my Lookbook. As I got older, the collagesturned into actual drawings. I’d stay up late, drawing “dream dresses” by torchlight as mum worked in the dining room.
“All I wanted was to start my own fashion line one day,” I say, picking up a pearl-encrusted headband. “I daydreamed about the clothes I’d make. The studio I’d have. I always imagined building one at the bottom of my garden.”
“What would it be like?” Cameron says.
I glance at him. His eyes are intent on my face. He looks genuinely interested. “Pink,” I say. “With white flowerboxes outside the windows full of pink flowers. A big sewing desk. A sofa. Dress forms.” I smile fondly. “And there’d be no one to tell me that I was making a mess. It was like my comfort daydream. I’d go there in my mind whenever I was upset. I drew it over and over again in my Lookbook.” I put the headband back. “Until Mum found it and threw it out.”
Alec stops walking.
“No,” Fraser gasps. “She didnot.”
I nod. “She said that instead of spending so much time daydreaming about clothes, I should be working on my spelling. I should have hidden it better, really. She didn’t even let me have magazines after that.” I mournfully poke at a floppy sunhat. “She said they were propaganda to make little girls stupid.”
Fraser plops the hat on my head. “Bit harsh. I was obsessed with dinosaurs. Mum says I used to roar at people in the Sainsbury’s.”
“Yes, but I never grew out of mine. To this day, I’m still obsessed with dressing up.”
“It’s fine,” Cameron speaks up. His face is dark. “It’s just what you like. It’s not childish to like what you like.” He sniffs. “Makes more sense than you wearing clothes you hate. If you want to have sparkly lips for no reason, do it. It’s fine.”
“No one said anything about her lip gloss, mate,” Fraser says cheerfully.
Cameron ignores him, staring at me. “It’s fine,” he repeats. He says it so matter-of-factly that it’s hard to argue with him.
“Yeah, I guess.” I bite my lip. “I think…I’m going to get that pink coat.”
Fraser grins, pulling me into his side. “Atta girl. And while we’re at it, I saw somelovelythigh-high socks with wee bows over there that I think will look juststunningon you.”
We spend the next few hours in the shopping centre, traipsing from store to store. I tell myself I won’t buy much, but that lie quickly dissolves.I pick out a nacre handbag shaped like a butterfly. Crystal earrings like clusters of dewdrops. A slouchy cardigan with strawberries crocheted on. A feather-trimmed mint babydoll that makes Alec’s eyes go dark. I even buy a lavender beret. Which is ridiculous. Who wearsberets?But it looks so adorable with the lilac platforms I’d found in the previous shop that I couldn’t resist. As we go through shop after shop, I feel an old version of myself that I’d long buried slowly coming back to life. A version of me that played with fashion without worrying about looking weird. I used to gladly go out in public wearing thigh high boots and a pink faux fur coat. I’d spend hours trying fantastical sparkly makeup looks, or making nail sets covered in pearls and gemstones. I didn’t care that I looked over the top, it made me happy.
I expect the men to get bored, but they seem content trailing around carrying my growing pile of bags. We eventually end up in a boutique full of local designers. I’m halfway through a soliloquy about the history of sweetheart necklines when I see it.
The dress.
It’s the ultimate Cinderella dress. I float closer without meaning to, practically drooling. My eyes trace the tight, lilac bodice. The cinched waist. The sweeping, gorgeously draped silkskirt. It looks almost like one of the pieces I designed for my fairy tale–themed final project in uni but never got to actually make. My inner child flops to the ground in glee.
“That one then,” Cameron says, stepping up behind me and hooking it off the rail.
“No,” I say even as I reach out to touch the flounces of purple fabric. “I shouldn’t. Where would I even wear it?”
“You go to plenty of events, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I can’t show up to them in aprincess gown.”
“Why not?”
