I lift the dress again, hold it to my body, and twist toward the long mirror by the fabric wall. My reflection looks wild. My eyes are too bright, cheeks too flushed, and my hair's falling out of my messy bun in thin, frantic strands. But I don't care. Red's dress is perfect now. There's a sweet neckline with soft straps and a skirt that moves like whispered promises.
He'll see me in it and forget his own name.
I stare at my reflection, seeing myself clearly as if it's already on my body.
A dress isn't enough.
The thought flashes across my brain so quickly, I don't realize I'm already digging through the lace pile until my hands close around the rose lace. It's delicate, sheer, and soft. It's the exact shade of innocence no one can pretend is innocent.
A thrill bursts through me. I whisper, "Yes," and line it up on the cutting table, practically singing, "This is right. This is… Yes! This is exactly right."
I skip the sketching part and barely breathe. My fingers move at a speed I didn't know I possessed, trimming, shaping, draping, and pinning. The lace slips through my hands like temptation.
I fold it into a bra shape, even though it'll barely cover anything. Then I work on the panties, giving them thin straps, a stingy amount of lace on the ass cheeks, and a V so deep it borders on obscene.
My heart races faster with every snip of scissors.
This isn't for him to see me in today.
It's for him to imagine.
It's to drive him crazy until he eventually begs to take it off me.
I stitch fast, but the seams come out flawless, as if the needle understands exactly what this moment demands. The panties are barely there, the kind that would slide under the sundress without leaving a trace. The bra is almost laughably thin, with two soft triangles of lace that will show every response my body has toward him.
When it's done, I hold it all up. My breath catches. It's the first thing I've ever made that feels like a confession and is perfect without revisions.
Before I can overthink it, I fold the lingerie into a tiny bundle and shove it into my oversized purse. My pulse thrums under my skin, growing hotter with every indulgent thought I create.
For the rest of the afternoon, I work on the projects my mom wants me to get done. When five hits, I don't say goodbye to anyone and hightail it out of the office.
The entire way to Red's office, energy vibrates off me. I walk too fast. My thoughts race loudly, but the closer I get to his building, the lighter I feel. By the time I reach his floor, I'm floating.
Shirley has her coat on and her purse slung over her shoulder. "Hi, honey. You're a bit early. Dr. Mercer went to get some fresh air before your appointment."
"It's okay. I couldn't wait." My smile stretches too wide, but I can't stop it.
Her eyebrows pinch slightly. She pauses, then nods. "Have a great evening."
"You too!"
She disappears through the elevator.
I pace the waiting room, unable to sit. I move the few items on her desk around, then put them back in order so no one will ever know. After ten minutes, I can't handle it.
I push Red's door open, pass the doorway, and freeze.
I had forgotten about it.
When did that happen?
The hourglass I sent him on Monday sits on his shelf, front and center, lit by the late-afternoon sun, glowing as if it were born to be there.
A bright, sharp sound bursts from my chest in a half laugh, half gasp. I step closer, running my hand over the clear bulb, then flip it, watching the blue sand fall gracefully.
He kept it.
He put it somewhere he could see it whenever he looked away from a patient. Everyone can marvel at how beautiful it is and how the blue and red go perfectly together.
