32
Valentina
I’ve tried to get Huxley to give me any clues as to where we’re going or what we’re doing tonight, but every time I think I’ll get an answer, he just smiles at me and sings along to the radio.
We finally pull up to a small store wedged between a bank and a pizza place. The sign above the door reads “Time Capsule Boutique,” with mannequins representing different eras of clothing in the window display.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, still staring at the window display.
“Step one for tonight.”
I turn back to Huxley as he winks and gets out of the truck.
Step one?
I follow him out, and he leads me into the store where even more displays of vintage-style clothing line the walls and racks.
“What can I do for you?” A woman approaches us in an outfit that looks as though she stepped out of the ‘70s. Long, sleek, straight hair paired with bellbottom jeans and a wildly printed crop top. Her jewelry and shoes only add to her outfit, but they also confuse me more.
“I called earlier about a gift,” Huxley tells the woman.
Her eyes light up. “Oh yes.” She turns her smile to me. “ You must be the beautiful girl he mentioned.”
I glance up at Huxley, but the woman grabs my hand, stealing my attention. “Come, darling. We’ll get you fitted.”
“Fitted? Fitted for what? Huxley?” I look back at him, still standing in the place I left him.
“You’ll be fine, Love.” He smiles my smile, and I know I’ll be okay.
The woman pulls me all the way to the back of the store and behind a curtained-off section. “You two are so adorable together,” she gushes.
I softly smile and try to ask her what’s going on, but she pushes me into a fitting room. She disappears for a second before coming back with a dress. It’s baby blue with white polka dots all over, and a thicker white trim lines the bust line. But it’s the style that throws me off.
“Uh…” My eyes scan over the bowtie halter and swing-style bottom of the dress. It’s cute, but why do I have to wear this?
“Don’t worry,” the woman assures me. “We’ll also do your hair and makeup to match.”
My eyebrow arches. “Match?”
Her smile softens. “Your boyfriend made this entire thing a surprise for you, didn’t he? How romantic.” She hands the dress over, and I take it timidly. “Get dressed, and then we’ll get started on your hair.”
She pulls the curtain back, and my eyes fall on the dress again.
None of this makes sense. The style of dress, primarily, but also the whole excursion. What does he have planned?
Pushing all that aside, I get dressed. The band around my waist pulls me in and makes me appear smaller than usual, while the white trim at the bustline accentuates my chest, making it appear larger. Not that I need any help with that.
I try messing with the top to settle them down some when the woman pulls the curtain open. “Oh dear,” she gasps, looking me over. “You look gorgeous.”
I point at my chest. “This isn’t too much?”
She waves me off. “Just gives your boyfriend even more reasons to stare at you.”
Before I can think of a reply to that, she takes my hand and pulls me out of the dressing room, dragging me to another room with a vanity set up.
Another woman, who looks like she stepped right out of the movie Clueless, yellow plaid and all, comes up to me and pushes me into a chair. I barely glance at the mirror before she turns me around, so I can’t see myself. She starts twisting and twirling my hair in her hands while staring at me.
“I think classic,” she says simply before grabbing a curling iron. She meticulously moves around my head, adding curls to my hair. After she finishes, she looks over my face. “Also classic.”
I try to ask her what she means, but she walks away and returns so fast that I lose the question. She works quickly, only taking a few minutes before she stands back from me.
“You’re perfect. Look.” And then she walks away again.
I wait a minute, but she doesn’t come back, so I swivel the chair back around to the mirror.
My eyes widen when I see myself. She curled my hair into big, voluminous waves and pulled it into a side part, giving it a more Hollywood-glam look. On top of that, she gave me a cat eye and a red lip. Seeing it all together, I understand why she kept saying classic.
I stand as the woman from the ‘70s comes back, taking me in as her bright smile returns.
“Wow. Stunning.” Her eyes stop on my hands. “Oh, one more thing.” She turns and pulls something out of a box—white lace gloves with frills on the wrists. Carefully, I slip them on, and the ‘70s woman looks me over like a finished masterpiece.
“Now come. Look.” She leads me to a full-length mirror where I can finally see everything all tied together.
I look like I stepped straight out of the ‘50s, my Mary Janes topping off the outfit. I’m still confused about Huxley’s reasoning behind all this, but right now, I don’t mind. I actually feel pretty in this outfit. And the more I look at myself, the more excited I get.
“He’s waiting for you out front.”
I nod, but sudden nerves fill my lungs, leaving in a deep exhale.
“Nervous?”
I smooth out my dres a few times, still looking at myself in the mirror. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before.”
The woman smiles and comes up behind me in the mirror. She softly tightens the bow behind my neck before she pulls my hair behind my shoulders.
“When that boy called about his gift, I was shocked. He sounded too young to want to have a ‘50s-inspired look for his girlfriend. When he told me why, it all made sense.”
I turn back to her when she doesn’t continue. “What was the reason?”
She only smiles in response. “You have no reason to be nervous.” She looks me over once more. “Take your time.”
I turn back to the mirror, my eyes catching on to every detail that was put into all this. Huxley’s never done anything to hurt me in the sense of planning our dates. So I have no reason to believe that this time would be different.
With a deep breath, I head out of the back room in search of Huxley.
I scan the store and see a man in a suit towards the front. At first, I don’t place him, but Huxley runs his still-ringed and tattooed hand through his hair, messing it up slightly and sending my heart racing at the sight of him.
I’ve never seen him dressed up like this before, and I can’t deny the heat rising in my chest at how handsome he looks. As I get closer, he turns, eyes widening as he takes me in.
I do the same, drinking in the way he looks in his three-piece suit that fits him better than I would have ever thought possible. When our eyes lock again, a smile breaks over his face.
“You look ready to dance,” he tells me.
“Dance?”
He grabs my hand and pulls me behind him as fear and confusion fill my body. I don’t dance, and Huxley doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would either. Our ‘50s attire makes even less sense now because where the hell are we supposed to go dancing like this?
I spend the drive to wherever the hell Huxley is taking me, trying to get him to explain himself. Once again, he focuses on the radio, giving me no clues.
Finally, after countless questions left unanswered, we pull up to a dance hall, the marquee reading ‘50s Night. At least the outfit makes sense now.
“Why ‘50s?”
Huxley pulls his seat belt off. “I would have chosen a different decade, but this one was on our anniversary. So I figured we’d give it a shot.”
Oh my god. He chose a decade he probably knows little about just because it fell on our anniversary.
He could have waited a few days or weeks—however this place operates—and brought me here during an ‘80s night.
Even a ‘70s night. But he didn’t want to wait.
And that alone makes my heart swell even more in my chest.
I start to open my door, but Huxley stops me.
“Miss Demarco.” My eyebrows shoot up at his proper tone. “A man must open his woman’s door. That is how it was in this time.”
I smile so widely it hurts. But I don’t care. Because Huxley didn’t have to do anything for me for our anniversary, and yet he’s going so far beyond anything I could have imagined.
“Then do so, Mr. Adams.”
My smile on his face shines back at me before he gets out of the truck, running over to my side. He pulls my door open, but instead of offering his hand, he reaches in and grabs me by my waist to pull me out. My dress twirls around me as I land on the sidewalk.
“You just wanted to watch the dress fly when you did that,” I tease him.
He shrugs. “It’s very fun to watch, I’ll admit that.” He offers his elbow to me, and I loop my hand through as he leads us inside.
Music hits me as soon as we enter the dance hall. A small group of people dances in front of a cover band while a few stragglers stay on the outer edge. The place isn’t very full, but I imagine that’s because of the style of music. More recent eras probably bring in larger crowds.
“There’s one thing I know and one thing I don’t know,” I say as I continue to scan over the room.
“What is it you know?”
“We are the youngest people here.”
Everyone else here, aside from the band, has to be in their 60s or older, making us stand out.
“And the thing you don’t know?”
“How to dance,” I admit. “Especially ‘50s swing.”
Huxley shrugs. “Me either.” My eyes widen as he takes my hand and starts to pull me toward the dancing couples. “Guess we’ll learn.”
I match his bright smile, shaking my head at him as he pulls me to the center of the room.
Glancing around at the other couples, I try to learn the moves of this style of dancing. Unfortunately, either the couples are moving too fast—which is impressive, I must add—or they’re moving so slowly that they’re barely moving at all.
I look up at Huxley as he glances around the room, too. When his eyes hit mine again, he smirks. “Fuck it.”
He takes my hand and spins me around, a jolt of laughter spilling out of me. Pulling me close, he dips me back quickly before spinning me back out, twirling me, then spinning himself, and another laugh spills from my chest as he pulls me back in.
“Just don’t step on my feet,” I warn with little force.