My throat is dry. “You look like a fairy.”
She twists in the mirror, beaming. “It lookssomuch like the Sleeping Beauty gown I was meant to make in my final year of uni,” she chatters, glowing with happiness. “It was going to be the centrepiece of my collection. Except I did tulle instead of silk, and it was pink, of course. Do you know in the original story her name is Briar Rose? I spent weeks making all of these tiny roses out of gauze. And then my tutor called them gaudy and told me she’d fail me if I used them.”
That snaps me out of my trance. “What?”
“Yes, she was very minimalist. Always wore black. Hated glitter.” She sighs heavily, stroking the skirt. “But I’m more of a maximalist, I think. Anyway, it didn’t matter. I dropped out before I ever got to make the dress. But this is exactly how I wanted to feel in it.” She bites her lip, looking up at me. “You’re sure it’s not…too much?”
“I don’t think there could be too much of you,” I say honestly.
Her eyes widen. The air seems to shiver between us.
I clear my throat. “Shoes,” I mutter. “Sit.”
She does as I say, and I kneel stiffly, ignoring the pain in my leg as I open the shoebox and pull out the wee pink heels she picked out. “Foot.”
She gives me her foot, and I slip the shoe on for her. She shivers as I press in to kiss her ankle. “Oh,” she murmurs.
I can’t help myself. I lean in closer, my mouth trailing higher, brushing up the smooth curve of her calf. When I reach the skirt of her dress, I bury my head under it, biting a line up her soft thigh.
“Oh.” Summer grabs my head. “Cameron, you shouldn’t?—”
“No?” My mouth waters as I kiss her pretty wee panties. Her musky scent surrounds me. My heart thuds.
“I mean…” She sounds torn. “I want to. But…” I press closer, the damp fabric touching my cheek as I inhale. She squeaks. “No! No, we can’t. We’re in public, and some poor worker will have to clean this cubicle, and I have recently learned that I’m physically incapable of being quiet.”
I nod, kissing the wee bow on her undies and pulling back reluctantly. Heat is burning through me. My jeans are suddenly painful. Summer flutters a hand by her face like she’s trying to cool off. I sit back and look at her. It’s mostly worn away, but I can see the faint traces of shimmer on her bitten lips. I want to ask her to put more on. Mostly so I can lick it off again.
“Got you a nail appointment,” I tell her instead.
“What?” Her eyes are hazy. “Jesus. You need to stop sticking your head up people’s dresses, Cam.”
Cam. When has she called me that before? The feeling in my chest just gets worse. “Broke your nails doing the sheep.” I take her hand, frowning at the chipped polish. “So I booked you a manicure after this.”
She looks taken aback. “What…Why?” I don’t answer. She cups my face, her thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “Seriously, Cameron. Why are you doing all this? Why did you convince the others to take me shopping?”
Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this for a girl before. Never even wanted to. All I know is every time I see Summer sad, it hurts me. And when she’s happy, I want to live in the feeling. “Like to make you happy,” I say simply. Her lips part.
“Jesus, are you two shagging in there or what?” Fraser calls from outside the cubicle. “Come out! I want to know if she says yes to the dress!”
The spell breaks. Summer blinks a lot, stands, and gives me her hand to help me to my feet. We pull aside the curtain and step out into the dressing room.
Alec gets off the bench, looking stunned. “You are…” he starts.
Summer winces. “Please pick an adjective, or I’ll choose the worst one possible.”
“Beautiful,” he says softly, drinking her in. “You look really, really beautiful, Summer.”
She flushes.
Fraser wolf-whistles loudly, grabs her hand, and twirls her. “Aye, this is ayes, all right. Do you like it?”
“I feel like a princess,” Summer says, watching the skirt spin around her legs. “I mean, I don’t know where I’d wear it. It’s very over the top.”
“Oh, come on. Quit switherin’ and just get it. You look lovely.”
She beams at him, turning to examine her reflection in the huge wall-to-ceiling mirror. “I do look pretty, don’t I?” she says almost to herself.
Before I can scoff at the understatement, a nasally voice cuts through the changing room. “Hey, I know you! Oh myGod, you’re lipstick girl!”
