The moment I step through his doorway, his scent wraps around me—the same smell clinging to the hoodie I’m wearing, the same one that was on my skin last night when he held me.
The bed is made with military precision. Dark sheets pulled tight. An open book on his nightstand, and I physically stop myself from walking over to see what he’s reading.
“Earth to Ginny.” Juliette snaps her fingers. “You okay?”
“Fine. Processing.”
Felicity hangs the garment bags on the closet door. “Options.”
The first dress is black and slinky. When I try it on, it makes me feel like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s skin.
“Close,” Juliette says. “But not quite.”
“Like a sexy funeral,” Felicity mutters, tossing it aside. We go through a few more options before Felicity says, “Okay, try this one.”
She holds it up like it’s the Holy Grail.
“Had a feeling when I saw it.”
“And you made me go through the other ones first?”
“Saved it for last like the dramatic friend I am.”
The fabric makes me catch my breath. It’s the color of the ocean at dusk, a deep, rich teal that shimmers between blue and green depending on the light. Fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline, thin straps, a skirt that hugs the hips before flowing to the floor with a slit up one side.
I step behind the closet door to change, fingers trembling with the zipper. The fabric is cool against my skin, and it’s heavier than I expected.
The woman in the mirror is someone I barely recognize. The color makes my hair look like fire. The neckline shows just enough. The slit reveals a flash of leg. The whole thing fits like it was made for my body.
I step out, and Juliette’s mouth falls open.
“Holy shit.”
Felicity nods slowly. “That’s the one.”
“Are you sure?” I turn back to the mirror. For a second Idon’t see the blacklisted chef who got manipulated into moving to a small town. I see someone who belongs in a room full of Calloways and Montgomerys and Penngroves.
Someone who could stand next to Lance and not feel like she’s fading.
Art.I mean Art, of course.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“You’re beautiful,” Juliette corrects. “The dress is just doing its job.”
I change back into Lance’s hoodie and my pants, but I can’t stop thinking about how that dress made me feel.
We migrate to the living room. Cavall’s claimed an empty garment bag. Juliette shoves him over gently and plops down, working the cork.
“Glasses are in the cabinet above the sink,” I say, then catch myself. This isn’t my kitchen.
But she just nods like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
For a while I pretend this is normal. That I have girlfriends who bring dresses and wine. That my heart isn’t tearing apart between the man who lives here and the one who’s disappearing.
“So,” Juliette says. “How’s being my brother’s roommate?”
“Fine.”