When I head back out, the hallway is empty and the front door is open.
“Sloane?” I call.
She’s on the porch now, still staring at the phone in her hands.
I stop beside her, softening my voice. “Here,” I say, offering the clothes. “Why don’t you get changed. Then maybe we can talk about what brought you here.”
Even though everything inside me says I donotneed to get involved in whatever disaster she’s carrying.
“Thank you,” she whispers. She hands the phone back but doesn’t walk away. “Actually… I might need your help. With the back of my dress.”
She turns, and I see the dozens of tiny hooks running down her spine.
“No problem,” I say.
I carefully start to unfasten the little hooks, very aware of every inch of bare skin and every breath she takes. When the last latch loosens, I step back quickly, suddenly feeling like an intruder.
“Where’s the bathroom?” she asks.
I point toward it. “End of the hall on the right.”
She disappears inside, leaving me on the porch, wondering how a perfectly ordinary day turned into…this.
Chapter 2
SLOANE
I stare at the giant heap of fabric on the floor. The dress.Mydress. I’d bought it from the Monique Lhuillier flagship in LA on a weekend trip with Kerry-Anne. It was the first one I tried on, and the moment I caught sight of myself in the mirror as the shop attendant poured champagne for what everyone assumed would be at least an hour-long appointment, I nodded at my reflection.
“This is the one,” I’d said.
It fit perfectly. A-line, sweetheart neckline, classic lace overlay, and a modest train—it was elegant, yet practical for a full day of events.
Kerry-Anne had pushed back.You can’t choose the first one!she’d exclaimed. So I’d appeased her, tried on fifteen more dresses, but in the end I’d still swiped Jack’s credit card for that first one.
Did I truly love it? Or did I just want the whole circus to be over?
Regardless, thousands of dollars of Italian silk now lies spoiled at my feet, never once seen by the man I was supposed to wear it for.
I pull on the pants and shirt Ryan gave me. Both are too big, soft, and faintly scented with a nice kind of laundry soap I’d noticed the moment I passed him in the doorway.
I tuck the necklace under the shirt even though I’m tempted to flush the thing down the toilet.
I gather up the dress and drape it clumsily over the side of the bathtub, then look at myself in the mirror. I rip off a piece of toilet paper and rub away the smudged mascara, then do my best to tame my hair.
What now?Ryan offered me his phone. But who would I call?
I at least need to contact Kerry-Anne and tell her I’m okay. No sense in anyone thinking I drowned, even though Jack’s mother might appreciate the possibility.
When I step out of the bathroom, Ryan’s at the kitchen counter, pouring hot water into two mugs, teabag strings dangling over the sides.
I take a moment to look at him—his tall, lean frame, the way his T-shirt hugs his back. He’s an attractive man, with a kind of outdoorsy, self-reliant air—the type who might be featured in a Subaru commercial or something.
When I step into the kitchen, he turns to look at me, and I swear there’s a tiny upturn at the corner of his lips when he sees me swimming in his clothes.
“Earl Grey okay?” he asks. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Sure. Just a little milk.”
