Then she had said, “Oh my god.”
Unhelpful.
“Put them on,” she said, waving the heels in front of me.
“I hate heels.”
“You love heels.”
“I love how heelslook. My feet hate heels.”
“You are going to anicerestaurant, right?” Cris asked.
“Yes.”
“You will be sitting down.”
“That is not the point.”
Cris tossed the shoes onto the bed and stood up. “Listen to me.”
I braced myself.
“You are going on a date with a six-foot-four emotionally responsible wolf shifter who already thinks you are the center of the universe.”
I rubbed my forehead. “That’s a dramatic interpretation.”
“He tracked a missing child through the forest and returned her to you like some kind of mythological guardian creature.”
“He was just helping out.”
“He brought you flowers.”
“That resulted in police involvement.”
“He respected your boundaries.”
“Okay, thatwasimpressive.”
Cris grabbed the heels and stepped closer. “You’re wearing the shoes.”
I stared at them. They were exactly the kind of heels that made my legs look absurdly long.
“Five minutes,” I said.
“That’s all you’ll need to know I’m right.”
“That is not true.”
“Put them on.”
Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed. Sliding my foot into the first heel felt like signing a contract with gravity. The second one followed. I stood up, smoothing down the dress.
Cris clapped once. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“Look at you!”
