22. Alice
22
Alice
W ill parks outside the boutique, and I spit out the plan that’s been forming in my head for the last sixty seconds. “Okay, here’s the deal?—”
“The deal?”
“Yes. Here’s how this is going to go down. I’m picking your outfit and you’re picking mine. We must wear them to the meeting with Jet.”
“Whoa. Nope. I’m not doing that.” Will’s words are stern.
“Okay, we will each pick three outfits and the other can veto two.”
“You don’t know my style,” Will tells me.
I throw my head against the seat of our rented BMW—Will has a problem—and scoff. “Please, I’ve seen you in the same dress pants and collared shirts since I got here. You need some variety, man.”
“You really want me picking out your clothes?” He stares at me. He doesn’t believe that I do.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I trust you.”
“Oh, geez.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “No.”
“Will,” I whine, both arms wrapped around his bicep—gosh, it’s large. “Come on! Please. It’ll be fun. You asked what I did for fun. This sounds like fun to me.”
He groans, or growls, or maybe both. “And if I come back with a puffy pink princess dress—you’ll wear it?” He eyes me like this is serious, like we are about to diffuse a bomb together.
“I will.” I lift my rainbow necklace from the hollow of my throat, pressing my fingers into the grooves before dropping it again. “If that’s what you want me in during our very important business meeting, you bet. I’ll wear it.”
Will groans again—it’s a groan that says he’s giving in. I like that groan. “Fine—we will pick one another’s clothes for tonight, for the game . For the meeting tomorrow, we pick our own clothes.”
“Chicken,” I mutter beneath my breath.
“Fine,” he says, new resolve in his tone. Apparently, you can Back to the Future Will Henley by calling him a chicken and he’ll do anything you ask him to do. Note taken—I’m not going to forget that. “You pick my clothes, but remember I’m picking yours too.”
Once inside the boutique, I scope out the dressing rooms. I tell the clerk that we need two and that we’ll be spending a stupid amount of money. She complies with all of my demands. Is this how Billy feels all the time? Man, it’s fun.
Will watches the exchange and only rolls his eyes at me. He’s so dramatic.
Next, we split up. We’ve given each other thirty minutes to shop. I’ll put clothes in Will’s dressing room, and he’ll put clothes in mine. We won’t go inside and see what the other has picked for us until we’re both ready.
Eek ! This is going to be fun.
I have big plans to mess with Will Henley—he needs it. He might even deserve it. It’s going to be good.
I find lime-green pants in Will’s size. Lime . They have a stretch to them that reminds me a little of a rubber ball. I have no idea what these things are made of. Something special, for sure.
I hide the gem in my boutique basket and peek back at Will, who is currently looking through a rack of knee-length dresses. They’re cute. They’re also safe.
Years ago, when I went to the junior prom, Coco made an appointment for us at this dress shop that had just opened up. But when the day of our appointment came, she was sick. Dad was out of town, and Mom was—well, Mom. So, Uncle Levi took me. I was a little down, and every time I’d come out of the dressing room in a new dress—one I was wishing I could get Coco’s opinion on—he was standing there in some insane outfit. He’d change and make it out of the dressing room before me every time. It only took two quick changes before I knew what was coming. Soon, I had a smile on my face, and I couldn’t wait to see what came next.
Man, I miss my uncle Levi.
My chest warms with the memory—with the sight of these lime-green rubbery things in my boutique basket now. I stop at a rack of collared shirts—not the plain polos that Will wears every day, but a white flowy top with tangerines printed all over it. I add that to my lime pants. It’s citrusy. I’m calling it a match.
I pick out two more equally obnoxious outfits for Will.
They are awesome!
I also grab what I knew I’d grab all along—a white button-up, jeans, and a brown suede jacket. I swallow—Will will look good in this. Very good .
But first, before I show him the power outfit Billy will be buying for him, he must try on the lime-green pants.
I sneak Will’s clothes into his dressing room, folding each outfit neatly and making three piles. I keep the suede jacket and jeans with me—he can see those later. First, lime-green pants, tangerine shirt. Second, pink tank top, ripped jeans with skulls on the back pockets. Third, one of those collared shirts he likes so much, only this one is bright yellow and fuzzy and feels like a peach. I’ve matched the fuzzy shirt with some surfer shorts.
I lay the blue-and-green wave-covered shorts neatly on top of that fuzzy shirt, then stand, ready to make my exit. I feel like Santa on Christmas morning, leaving Will his grand surprise.
I turn and— thud— I run right into something solid and sturdy. My hands splay over the front of Will’s blue polo. I tip my head up in the quaintness of this dressing room to meet Will’s gray-blue eyes.
“Hi,” I say, very aware that my hands are still pressed to his chest. “You weren’t supposed to come inside yet.”
“Hey,” he says, his tone low. His gaze slips past me, to the bench in this dressing room where I have neatly laid out all of his clothing. “What is that?”
“What’s what?” I say, innocent.
“What are those piles behind you?”
“Those are your options. You have three to choose from.”
“One of those options looks like it may have been alive at one time.”
Ah, the fuzzy shirt.
“It wasn’t,” I assure him. “I don’t think.”
“Alice,” he growls. One of his hands wraps around my back, keeping me in place next to him. “I’m not wearing a woolly shirt to our meeting with Jet.” His cheeks puff out and he stares down at me in the close space. I pull in a breath and breathe him in—he’s like freshly laundered clothing drying in the sunshine.
My heart pumps blood through my veins, and the sound is deafening in my ears. “It’s a good thing you have options, then,” I say. I duck out of his hold and slip past him out the dressing room door. “You have to show me every outfit, or I get to choose!” I yell before slipping into the dressing room right beside him.
There are no men’s and women’s corners in this boutique. There are three dressing rooms, and Will and I have claimed two, side by side.
Will has hung three options up in my dressing room. A short-sleeved, floral-printed blue dress that’ll hit at my knees, a simple pink sundress, and a ruffle cap-sleeved romper—again, blue. The one-piece shorts hit mid-thigh and button-up to a round neck. It’s cute. They’re all cute. Something inside of me scolds that I should feel bad for the fuzzy shirt and lime-green pants… and maybe I should. But I’m too excited to see Will in all three get-ups to truly feel remorse.
“Alice,” he says—his voice filters through the wall between us.
“Hi, Will. How’s it going over there?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I am so tempted to stand on top of my bench and peek my head over at him… but if Will’s standing there in his underwear, I’ll never get the image out of my head. I’m still seeing the man shirtless and dripping every time I close my eyes at night.
“Just try them on. You’ve got five minutes to meet me outside the door and then I’m coming in.”
“You aren’t coming in,” he says.
“I’m not afraid of crawling beneath this dressing room door, Will Henley. Just put the pants on.”
I’m waiting for Will in my blue summer dress, watching the clock, with my camera at the ready when Will’s dressing room door opens.
He’s so obedient. He followed my orders fantastically. And lime-green pants are first on the agenda.
I smother my laugh and twist my lips to the side. “I love it. They’re fantastic.” Oh man, they really are.
His eyes flick over to me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Those pants fit you perfectly.”
“It’s warm in here, Alice,” he says, his tone like a worried parent. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get out of them. They’re clinging to my body.”
My laugh will no longer be smothered. I cover my mouth with my hand. “But they look so good.”
“No, you look good .” His palm stretches out, motioning to me. “I picked out something real and flattering. The blue matches your eyes perfectly. While you picked out this.” He peers down at himself, and the wide collar of the tangerine shirt flicks him in the chin.
The blue matches my eyes? Since when did Will start noticing the color of my eyes?
I press my lips together and stare at him. “I like it. You look colorful and fun.”
“I look ridiculous. You better have another idea because I’m?—”
I step toward him, pressing a finger to Will’s mouth. It wasn’t my intention to get so close to him—I just wanted to shush him. “We’re having fun,” I tell him. “Just fun. So, try on the clothes.”
He swallows and slowly I let my finger fall from his mouth.
Will nods, but no sound escapes him.
“Time to change,” I say. Beaming up at him, I turn for my dressing room behind me.
We change again, and while Will might like the fuzzy shirt and shorts less than the rubbery lime-green pants, he’s stopped complaining.
And I’m half in love with the romper. I’m not even trying on that pink dress. I want this!
“I’m not sure I would have picked this for myself,” I say, my cheeks aching with the grin this outfit has produced.
“Yeah?”
“And I love it, Will. Nice job.”
His brows lift. “Well, I definitely wouldn’t have picked this out.”
I tilt my head. “Fine. You don’t have to try on the last outfit. And—” I slip back into my dressing room where the jacket, button-up, and jeans lie. I hold them out to him. “Here. This is your real outfit.”
Will’s lips pull up in a grin. “I knew I couldn’t have let you sleep in my guest room all those nights for you to dress me like a ’70s disco dancer.”
I giggle. “For what it’s worth, you pull off lime green really well.”
“I’m not sure that’s worth much, honestly. I’ll go try this on,” he says, lifting the suede jacket.
I nod and escape back into my dressing room. I sit on the bench, refusing to take off my romper, and slip my phone from my pocket.
There’s a text waiting for me—from Mom.
Mom: I need you to call me. 911.
I don’t bother writing her back; she sent this twenty minutes ago as it is.
My mind reels—is it Boone? Is he dead? Did he end up leaving? Is she stuck on the side of the road trying to find a bus to get home?
“Hello?” Mom says—she doesn’t sound like she’s on the side of the road.
“Mom? Are you okay? Is it Boone?”
Her voice booms over my speakerphone—every now and then, I’d really like a newer phone, one that isn’t ancient and permanently stuck on speaker. But then I see the prices of phones, and I’m content with the one I’ve got.
“We’re fine. I need you to do something for me.”
“Oh.” My pounding heart simmers a little. “You wrote 911 in your text. I thought you were having an emergency.”
“I am,” she whines. “Alice, listen. Boone and I have a regular line dancing appointment, and I didn’t pack my denim skirt. I need you to send it to me.”
“Line dancing?” My breath is haggard. She had me scared. But this is about line dancing?
“Yeah. Can you get it in the mail today?”
I shake my head and slump against the wall of the dressing room. I look at myself in the mirror across from me. A deep frown grooves the lines of my face. How can a person feel so light one moment and so heavy the next? “Mom, have you forgotten where I am?”
She groans. “You’re still in Tesoro? Well, did you happen to take my skirt with you?”
“Did I—” I blow out a tired breath. I always grow tired when I talk to her. Was I this tired when I lived with her? “No. It must be back in storage.”
“Are you sure? Because we both know you love to borrow my clothes.”
I scoff out a humorless laugh. “I’m one hundred percent certain.”
“Then when will you be back in Coeur d’Alene to mail it?”
“Mom, I’m working. I’m eight hundred miles away. I’m not going back for a while, and certainly not for your skirt.”
“That puts me in a bind,” she says. “Did you just decide to turn that work trip into a long vacation?”
“Are you kidding? It’s not a work trip . I told you this. It’s a job. I’m working for Billy Baxter. We’re building a soccer team from scratch. This is a job, Mother. And the job is in Tesoro. I’m not vacationing. I have moved.”
“Billy Baxter,” Mom says. “The billionaire?”
I swallow. Crap. I wish I hadn’t said that. How does Mom know who Billy is, anyway? “Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem? Use your charm and get me a skirt in the mail. Your boss can afford it.”
“I’m not doing that. Your clothing malfunction isn’t Billy’s problem.” It feels ironic as I sit here in an outfit that Billy is purchasing.
“Alice Jasmine Taylor, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be so selfish.”
“Me?” I say, my throat aching.
“Yes, you. Can’t you think of someone else? Or are you having too much fun to remember me?”
My eyes sting. Tears are close. I am having fun. I’ve also worked my tail off since the day I arrived in Tesoro.
“The least you could do is Venmo me the cash to buy a new one. Clearly, you have the money.”
“I have to go,” I tell her. I don’t wait for her goodbye. I hit end and let a few tears leak from my eyes. I brush them away and choke back a sob.
Sometimes I wonder if she even loves me.
And sometimes, I think it shouldn’t matter—I have so much love from Dad, Coco, and my Bailey family. So, it shouldn’t matter. Right?
Only, it does.
She’s still my mom.
There’s a small tap on my dressing room door. I never changed out of the blue romper Will picked out for me. I’m not sure I even want it anymore.
I’m guessing Will has tried on the jeans and jacket and is already back in his street clothes. He’s ready to go, and I’m in here acting like a baby.
I clear my throat, and wipe the moisture from my cheeks. I open the dressing room door to Will standing before me in lime-green pants and a tangerine top. He’s also in shoes, the suede jacket, the white button-up, and jeans tucked beneath his arm.
“Ready?”
I narrow my gaze at him, my brows furrowed. “What are you wearing?”
“Oh, this? This is what I picked to wear to the game. I’ll wear the suede jacket and jeans to the meeting tomorrow. Nice choice, by the way.”
My left brow lowers. “Will, you don’t have to wear that. It was a joke.”
“Oh, I’m wearing it. And you’re going to have to sit by me throughout the entire game, so the joke’s on you. I’m not really sure who is going to look crazier, you or me.”
I smirk, then swallow past the lump dissipating in my throat. “You heard my conversation with my mom, didn’t you? You’re trying to cheer me up.” That’s such a Will Henley thing to do.
“Possibly.” He lifts one shoulder. “Are you cheered?”