It’s a feeble excuse, but a good enough one. Nate might be my best friend, but he’s still a guy. Long ago, Rob told me no guy likes to go shopping and handed me a hundred-dollar bill to treat myself with.
Nate turns to me, eyes narrowed. “And why’s that?”
“It might get a little boring.”
“I’m never bored when I’m with you.”
It’s such a simple statement, but I blink up at him regardless. It hits me that in all of my years with Rob, there were many times he was very bored of me.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Even when we’re doing something that’s not exactly fun, I can always annoy you and it cheers me up.”
“Is that why you braided my hair in English?”
He smiles. “You caught me.”
I let out a breath, but I also feel my lips turning upward. “Okay, fine. But this’ll be a test on how long you can go without beingbored.”
“This is also a test in how long you can hide the fact that you’re nervous about trying on shorts.”
My jaw falls open, but then I shut it quickly. “Shut up.”
He laughs. “Never. But you’ll be grateful for these when you have them. So, pick a few and try them on.”
“Fine. But no snide comments when you see me in them.” I point at him. “Say one negative thing and I’m spending the trip in my work clothes.”
Nate frowns. “Berry, I wouldn’t dare.”
I pause at his serious tone. “You say my legs are short all the time.”
“They’re short in a cute way.”
“A cute way?” I ask.
“Yeah. You have to hop to keep up with me.” He laughs again, and I hurl a pair of shorts his way. He catches it with ease.
“And for that little comment, you’re now carrying everything.”
“The joke’s on you. I was about to offer anyway.”
I throw another pair at him, rolling my eyes.
Eventually, I have a pile of nearly every kind. Denim shorts, bike shorts, and shorts that don’t go as far down my thighs. I may as well try everything.
Nate carries it all as we head to a fitting room. He sits outside as I go in. As I’m about to shut the door, he calls out, “And you better show me what fits!”
“Fine,” I grumble. I put the clothes down and lock the door.
“That’s nice.” I hear it from the dressing room next to me. “My husband never cares.”
My cheeks erupt in flames, but I say nothing as I grab the first pair.
The first two aren’t even close to fitting, which hits my self-esteem hard. Andrea was on me every day about losing weight before the wedding to make my dress fit better. I didn’t listen, but I can’t help but remember her words. How much more had I taken in that damn relationship?
“Maisie,” Nate calls from outside. “I was serious about being included.”
“I know,” I reply. “The first two didn’t fit.”
