I pick it up from my nightstand.
“Hey, Lily,” I answer, trying disguise my agony.
“Hey, Carlie. I just got your message. What’s up?” she asks, her voice so even-keeled compared to my internal anguish. “Everything okay?”
“I’m in a bit of a bind.” I let out a chuckle mixed with a sigh. “Adam asked me out for dinner and, well, I’m clueless about what to wear. Also, I’m still aching from the hellacious workout from his replacement,” I confess, sinking down slowly onto my bed.
“Adam asked you out? That’s fantastic—” Lily exclaims, her excitement crackling through the phone like a burst of sunshine.
“Yeah, it’s great but overwhelming,” I admit, closing my eyes, the mattress feeling like a cloud compared to my sore body. “I’m just ... lost for what the hell to wear, you know?”
“Don’t worry, I’m coming over,” Lily says, her voice filled with determination. “I’m no Vivian, but we’ll sort this out together.”
“Thanks, Lil,” I say, a sense of relief washing over me. “Just be prepared, I’m moving like a hundred-year-old tortoise here.”
She laughs and we hang up.
In the wake of her call, I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the irony of life.
Here I am, a romance writer, yet completely at a loss when it comes to real-life romance.
As it is, my room currently feels like a battleground strewn with rejected outfits, each discarded piece a testament to my growing despair.
Every attempt at getting up sends a sharp reminder of Jillian’s torture session. The mere thought of standing up again makes me grimace.
How I’m going to make it through this date without crying in pain is beyond me.
Maybe I should have postponed until next weekend?
“Why did I ever think taking on fitness was a good idea?” I mumble to myself, throwing an arm over my eyes. Then, instantly regret that movement, too.
A few minutes later, Lily arrives, bursting through my door like a fairy godmother. Let’s hope she’s one well-endowed with a fashion sense. Because I’m clueless.
“Okay, let’s see what we have in this disaster zone to work with,” she says playfully, surveying the scattered clothes with a critical eye.
I attempt to sit up. “Lily, I think I’m officially broken. If Adam wanted to see the real me, he’s in for a treat tonight,” I say, half-joking, half-wincing.
She chuckles, her eyes scanning my wardrobe. “The real you is fantastic, Carlie.” Lily starts picking up pieces of clothing, holding them up for scrutiny. “So, what’s the vibe for this date? Casual chic? Elegant but approachable?”
“I don’t even know,” I confess, watching her. “I just want to look nice, not like I’m trying too hard, but not like I just rolled out of bed either.”
“Adam’s seen you in workout attire, right? How bad can it be to find a dress that will knock his socks off?” she teases, dropping the stuff on my bed and instead, turning to the depths of my closet without so much a single wince.
I happen to know for a fact that she’s had many‘workout sessions’with her new boyfriend, London, and she’s not even in pain from the strenuous activity.
Oh, to be her.
“It’s not just the outfit,” I continue, biting my lip and redirecting my brain. “What if he’s just feeling sorry for me? You know, after the whole Instagram thing?”
Lily pauses, a pink dress in hand, and gives me a look that’s part reality check, part sympathy. “Did he come across like that’s what it was?”
I think back to the coffee date. Honestly, it was fun and flirty—and we had way more in common than I expected.
“No, I guess not,” I admit, shaking my head.
“That’s what I thought.” She winks at me, a twinkle of something in her eye that says more than her words.
“But …”