“He said that I had help now and we wouldsharethe responsibility.”
Still unimpressed, Tiddles and Tabby seemed to be in competition for who could do more rolling around on me. But it was Tory who sat at the end of the bed andstared.
“Right, less talking, more feeding.” All I had to do was make a move to sit up and the cats were leaping away and swarming toward the bedroom door. Amusement filtered through me. They were definitely all in on their new routine. Aware that I’d never get down there before Jeremy fed them, I opened the door and let them race out. The little thuds on the steps made me laugh and I waited, holding onto the door for Jeremy’s soft greeting.
“Well, there you three are. I am impressed that you let Miss Frankie sleep in this morning. Let’s get you fed…”
I checked the time. Oh. Wow. I had slept in. Today was dress shopping.
Take two.
Well, really take one since yesterday had been a ruse, but I had tried on a dress so—that counted, right?
Making a face at myself, I pulled my hair up and tied it into a ponytail before I grabbed a quick shower. I didn’t want to get my hair wet and I’d washed it the day before. The lavender color had begun to fade some. We’d need to retouch it…
I kind of liked it. I’d just wrapped a towel around my middle and headed out to look for my clothes when a knock sounded at my door.
“Frankie,” Rachel called softly. “You awake?”
“Unfortunately,” I said, and she laughed as she came in.
She took one look at me in my towel and on my way to the closet, and nodded with this small smile that said she was proud of me. “Good,” she said. “Because we’re fixing the dress situation.”
I groaned. “I hate the dress situation.”
“I know,” she said cheerfully. “That’s why I’m here.”
Dress shoppingwith Rachel was nothing like my ill-fated mall trip with Coop.
For one thing, Rachel didn’t let me spiral.
She handed me dresses without commentary, sat on the bench scrolling through her phone while I changed, and only spoke when I asked—or when something genuinely worked.
“That one,” she said at one point, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at my reflection. “That’s you.”
I studied myself in the mirror.
The dress was red.
Not loud, stop-sign red. Not glossy or sequined or trying to scream for attention. This was a deeper shade—wine-dark, almost garnet—rich enough that it felt intentional rather than reckless. The fabric skimmed instead of clung, soft and fluid,falling in a way that moved when I did, like it was meant to be worn instead of endured.
It was sleeveless, the straps thin but confident, framing my shoulders and collarbone without baring too much. The neckline dipped just enough to feel feminine without feeling like an invitation, and the waist curved in naturally before the skirt fell away in a gentle A-line that hit mid-thigh. Not princessy. Not severe.
Just… me.
The back was simple—clean lines, a low scoop that showed skin without making it the point. When I turned, the dress turned with me, catching the light in a way that made my reflection feel alive instead of staged.
I didn’t look hidden.
I didn’t look exposed.
I looked… like myself.
Rachel tilted her head, studying me in the mirror. A grin twitched her lips.
“What?” I asked.
Then she snorted. “That dress is… well,” she said, “it’s dangerous.”
