“She means me,” Percy said. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, casual but deliberate. “All three of us are going together, actually.”
“How nice.” Cateline’s voice could have frozen the produce aisle. She turned to me with a sweetness that dripped acid. “You must feel so special. Being someone’s charity project.”
“I do, actually.” I matched her smile. “Feels great. You should try having people want to spend time with you sometime.”
Her jaw clenched. Percy shifted his weight, the playfulness draining from his expression.
“Cateline.” His voice lost the usual warmth. “I think that’s enough. I don’t like you talking to Mira that way.”
She looked at him. Whatever she found in his face made her take a step back. She tossed her hair, mumbled an excuse, and disappeared into the crowd.
We loaded the groceries in comfortable silence. Solomon had purchased enough food to sustain a platoon, and Percy hauled the heavier bags while I organized them in the truck bed. When the last bag was in, Percy turned to grab the cart, and I caught his arm.
He looked down at me, eyebrows raised.
I grabbed his face with both hands. Squished his cheeks together until his lips puckered and his dimples disappeared under my palms.
“Don’t go showing these dimples around to others,Percival.Got it?”
His eyes widened. Then the grin spread beneath my fingers, slow and devastating even with his face compressed between my hands.
“Yes ma’am.”
The possessive satisfaction that flooded my chest was absolutely not something I planned to examine further. I released hisface, turned back to the truck, and pretended my heart wasn’t hammering against my ribs.
***
Back at the cabin, Percy followed me up the stairs, chattering about the band lineup and whether the dance floor would be big enough for his moves.
“So what are you wearing tonight?” He leaned against my doorframe. “Since you refused to buy anything new.”
“I don’t need anything new. I just want to go and have fun.”
“You can’t show up in leggings and a cardigan.”
“Watch me.”
He held up his hands in surrender and retreated as I pushed open my bedroom door.
A white box sat on my bed.
Large, flat, tied with a simple ribbon. No card or note. Just the box, positioned in the center of the mattress with careful precision.
I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
The blue dress.
Soft fabric, simple cut, the one I’d paused at during our shopping trip weeks ago. The one I’d held against my body in the store mirror and put back on the rack because old habits die hard.
There was only one guy who saw me try it.
Solomon.
He noticed and remembered it weeks later.
My chest did a thing I couldn’t name. It wasn’t pain or joy.
But a feeling that sat between the two, swelling against my ribs until my eyes burned.
