She wouldn’t believe me if I told her, so I slipped my phone in my pocket and rifled through boxes in my room until I found my makeup bag buried under the Sherpa throws I got custody of in the breakup. Makeup didn’t register as important when my dad was dead and my sister was depressed. On the bright side, nine months without foundation and my skin had never looked better.
As I brushed blush over the apples of my cheeks, it occurred to me that years separated me from the last time I dolled myself up to impress someone. First dates were never my forte, but Shawn had made it easy. My nerves gave way to molten excitement and I didn’t excuse myself from the table to check my makeup once. And then we were together. Three years of stability, comfort, and safety undone in two weeks, and now I would have to suffer through dating apps and painful first dates, only it would be a million times more awkward because Phoebe would be at home waiting.
The idea of dipping my toe into the dating pool again made my stomach turn. I hadn’t felt remotely inclined over the last eight months, and even now, gazing at my reflection in the mirror—auburn hair loose over my shoulders, gold eye shadow to enhance the green of my eyes, skin clear and freckled; someone pretty and fun and optimistic, not me at all—I couldn’t picture it.
This was for Phoebe. And then I’d shove the makeup back to the bottom of the box it came from.
I rapped on her bedroom door to tell her I was heading out to pick up the food. She didn’t respond. I threw on my favorite pair of black mules and slipped out the door, making the quickest pit stop at Arden’s for the last piece of this shameless puzzle.
The red dress. Short and flippy with an open back and a low neckline, it looked amazing on both Arden and me, but her boobs were smaller, so it fit her better. I filled it out.
I parked in front of Sequest, knowing damn well this was an embarrassing, futile idea, and yet I stepped onto the sidewalk without giving myself the opportunity to second-guess it. I would do anything for Phoebe, including this.
The same woman sat behind the desk when I walked in, only this time she wasn’t alone; Benji Dexter stood at her side, bent to inspect the computer screen, one hand braced on the desk. I froze in the doorway. I hadn’t expected him to be front and center and was immediately thrown off what little game I had.
“—just don’t see how it could work,” the receptionist was saying. She glanced over, her polite smile flattening in a blink. Benji, either oblivious to my presence or ignoring it, rubbed his scruffy chin thoughtfully.
“I’ll cover the surplus.”
The receptionist sighed and murmured something I couldn’t hear. He straightened, folding his arms over his chest, eyes flashing to me.
“Hi,” I said. Stupidly, I pointed to myself and added, “Violet. I was here last week. You remember me. I can tell by the withering look.”
Witheringmight’ve been an understatement. He looked about ready to throw flaming darts at my face.
“Oh,” the receptionist said, jumping to her feet. “Did you hear that? The phone.”
With that, she bolted out of the room.
I cleared my throat, reminding myself that I looked awesome, that this was for Phoebe, and if I ended up cannibalized by humanitarians, at the very least she might find it funny.
“Hi,” I said again. I was 90 percent sure he wasn’t blinking as he stared me down. “Um, it was nice meeting you the other day.I was in the neighborhood. You know that. You know where I live.” I coughed out an uncomfortable laugh. Benji remained statuesque. “Um, I actually—I work at the elementary school. I’m a teacher. Third grade.”
Why was I telling him where I worked? Why was I making it easier for this guy to make it look like an accident?
“So, I, uh, I walk by pretty much every day,” I pressed on, my voice heightening an octave. “Weird that this whole time, you were in here. And we, you know. Have lived in the same apartment. Some might call it fate or… something.”
The withering look gave way to confusion.You and me both, dude.
“Are you…” He furrowed his brow and I wished with all my might for a freak tornado to touch down on top of us and take me away from this unbearable situation. “Are you trying to flirt with me?” he asked incredulously. My face flamed, the mortification pooling in my chest like molten lava.
“What? No. Obviously—No.”
His gaze slipped down, taking in the dress and the way it accentuated my curves in what was suddenly the worst way. The lava erupted, spreading to my gut, down my limbs.
“You’re all dressed up,” he said. “You going somewhere?”
“I… I’m picking up takeout. From that new Thai place down the road.”
“That’s a hell of a dress for cheap pad Thai.”
“I like to look nice,” I replied, a breathless note in my voice. His throat worked tightly anddamn, this might’ve worked if I was even marginally smoother. “It makes me feel good.”
“The last time you were here,” he said, “you were in leggings and a big flannel shirt.”
I shrank back. “Okay. That’s pretty uncalled for. Those are my normal clothes.”
His expression hardened and I winced, realizing too late I’d played right into his hand.
