Page 77 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

‘Well, luckily for you, I do! Me and Mum hit up the main department stores yesterday, remember. And I know just the one you’d like.’

‘I seriously doubt that. Because I have never liked a clothes shop in my life.’

‘I know, I know,’ Anneka said, signalling to the server, who immediately came over, his shoulders dropping in disappointment when she asked for the ‘check’ rather than accepting yet another top-up of coffee from his steaming pot. ‘But, for once in your life, you’re gonna have to trust me, okay?’

I finished up my coffee and dabbed my mouth with a napkin, weighing up the dilemma. I was sensorially allergic to department stores. But my aching urge to see Ethan again was much stronger than my anti-shopping instincts, and going to the wedding would be my final opportunity to do so.

You just need a dress and a pair of shoes. How hard can it be?

I placed the coffee cup down on the melamine table and spun it round slowly in the same way Ethan had done with his glass yesterday. Once it had completed a full rotation, I looked up at Anneka with stoic focus.

‘Okay. You can take me to one department store. But I swear, if you use the word “makeover” again, I’ll scarper.’

Anneka extended her hand across the table. ‘Deal,’ she said.

I grasped her hand and shook it once.

‘Woohoo, let’s go get you ready for the ball!’

I groaned and put my head in my hands while Anneka jumped up and placed her arms in her waiting coat – the Adonis-like member of staff was holding it up for her like a dedicated footman – while I fumbled about with mine. She linked arms with me as we stepped out into the slush, steering us in the direction of the store she had in mind. I had no choice but to march in time with her determined footsteps, readying myself for the battle of the buyers.

Chapter 17

The Fifth Avenue department store had an extravagant festive window display that I could only describe as ‘North Pole meets KPop Demon Hunters’. Walking into the shop was the first time I’d felt the need to wear my noise-cancelling headphones since the morning I’d met Ethan – a new record? – but I’d left them in the hotel room so I had no choice but to make do. The store was rammed, but Anneka and I kept heading upwards, with each level getting progressively less busy until we emerged onto the fourth floor, which appeared to be dedicated to designer labels and formalwear. A feeling of dread pumped around my bloodstream.

‘Anneka, this stuff looks out of my price range, plus I really want to wear something simple so I don’t stand out.’

She whipped her head round to look at me. ‘Please, Flo. Just trust me.’

I sighed in resignation, and we kept walking until we reached the furthest corner of the floor – a quiet and understated section called Local Makers’ Pop-up. The lighting in this corner of the store was much less harsh, with around half a dozen market-like stalls featuring a non-overwhelming array of clothing from ‘New York State’s most exciting up-and-coming designers’.

I was officially intrigued, and Anneka detected as much.

‘Me and Mum saw this section yesterday morning and thought of you straight away. And there’s one brand in particular I think you’ll love.’

She guided me to the very furthest stall, which was called Jumping Attire. It took me a few seconds of browsing through the clothing rail for the significance of the name to click.

‘They’re all jumpsuits!’ I exclaimed.

‘They are,’ Anneka said, beaming at me while I rifled through the rack at a more enthusiastic pace. I stopped at a jumpsuit that felt deliciously soft between my fingers and extracted it from the rail. It was jet black, but had an electric-pink lining that peeked out cheekily from all the edges and pockets, with a matching bright pink zip down the back. The capped sleeves with the slightest frill and V neckline made it look like an elevated version of my regular outfits. I checked the handwritten label: $189. I swallowed – it was a fair price for what it was, but it would be by far the most expensive item of clothing I’d ever bought – and that included my wedding dress, which had been a simple white number I’d found on Vinted. I held the jumpsuit against my body and turned to face Anneka.

‘That will look amazing on you,’ she said. ‘And the way it hangs, it’ll probably look like a funky dress once you’re wearing it.’

‘Shall I try it on?’

‘Obviously!’

There were a couple of secluded fitting rooms in this tucked-away corner, and – after checking with the bored-looking sales assistant – I took the stretchy one-size jumpsuit into the cubicle, pulling the thick velvet curtain closed behind me. I stepped into it and it immediately felt like an extra layer of my own skin. No annoying seams or scratchy labels, just buttery smooth, crease-free fabric that – as Anneka had predicted – floated to the ground in a way that resembled a loosely tailored, floor-length dress. The flashes of pink that made themselves known whenever I moved added a unique twist to the outfit, which I loved. The only downside was that it was, quite obviously, a few inches too long for my legs.

‘C’mon then, don’t leave me on a cliffhanger!’ Anneka called from outside.

I stepped out like a bride-to-be on Say Yes to the Dress, and Anneka gasped just like the mothers did on the show when they all knew they’d discovered ‘the one’.

‘It’s perfect!’ she said.

‘Yeah, I like it,’ I said, trying to sound casual when, in fact, I was stupidly and uncharacteristically obsessed with this outfit. ‘Shame it’s too long. Oh well.’

‘Hmm…’ She stepped closer and kneeled to judge how much fabric was pooling around my feet. ‘Heels would help.’