I suck air into my lungs, swallowing the last of my fear, mentally telling myself I can handle whatever this is. White tissue paper ruffles when I open the top, parts of it waving from the sudden shift of air around it. Slowly, I peel it back one flap at a time until I’m met with the sight of what’s inside.
I gasp, taking in the deep-green material, immediately recognizing it as a dress. The fabric is soft under my fingertips, the tail of it falling to the floor after I lift it from its packaging. Bringing it to me, I bunch it against my chest while using my free hand to search for a note.
I never find one.
After a moment I give up searching and refocus on the dress. It’s beautiful and ironically, my favorite color. Forest green. How’d he know? I think to myself, but the question quickly fades. My phone rings, breaking my concentration. I fish it out of my bag, nearly dropping it because I can’t stop staring at the dress. I take in the tag on the inside flap, shock radiating through me when I realize it’s my exact size.
I peel my gaze away to read the number dancing across my cell’s screen. It’s not one I recognize so I hesitantly answer it and bring it to my ear. “Hello?” I say as more of a question.
“How do you like the dress? I took a guess with the shoes, hopefully they fit.”
It takes me no time to place the voice. It’s him—Easton.
“Are you there, amore?” he quizzes.
I clear my throat and lean against the counter for support. “H-how did you get my number?”
He chuckles. A subtle sound that rings loudly despite the fact it’s barely audible. “The question you should be asking is what time you should be ready tonight,” he says firmly.
I blink several times, an attempt to chase the words that have suddenly left me. He shouldn’t have this effect on me. No one does. I’m not one who takes direction all that well, my father and the decision to move here can attest to that. Yet, for some reason, I want to do what he says.
“I’ll be working tonight,” I add as a mock effort of remaining in control. It’s useless. I knew from the moment I met him in front of my store that I’d lost; it was solidified the night I witnessed what I had.
I can hear the smile on his lips. “Eight o’clock.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he continues before I can.
“And I’d prefer you wear your hair up.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need anything in the way when I’m ready to taste your flesh.”
Greer walks in, her presence giving me the escape I need.
“I have to go,” I blurt and end the call, not waiting around for him to object.
She cranes her neck once she notices the box and bag on the counter. “Ooo, what’s this?”
“Nothing,” I snap and hurriedly stuff the dress back into the box.
She squints at me, and I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “Mm. Doesn’t look like nothing.”
I quickly grab the items and rush toward the office in the back to get them out of sight. We have a long day ahead, and I’ll never get through it if I have to stare at them.
“They didn’t have the Southwest Asian salad, so I got the Caesar,” she yells so that I can hear from the office.
“Thank you.” The words come out muffled beneath the deep breath I take.
“No problem.”
She’s emptying the takeout bag as I return, her eyes immediately finding mine when I step back behind the register.
“So are you going to tell me what that’s about?” Greer darts her gaze between me and her salad as she removes the lid.
“What?” I play coy.
She wiggles her brows toward the back room.
