Chapter Twenty
SHAY
IBARELY MAKE it halfway up the stairs before bedroom doors start flying open.
“Our shoe size looks the same. I’ll grab my extra shoes.” Zoe vanishes into the first bedroom, the door smacking the wall.
“And I brought a case of jewelry.” Zara rushes after her. “And I have dresses.”
Another door bangs open. “We all have dresses.”
“Rendezvous in Jaclyn’s room!”
A hand snags my wrist and pulls me inside another flower-power explosion of a room: floral wallpaper, pink bedding, and puffy curtains.
“What are we working with?” Missy smells like sugar and vanilla from icing my cookies earlier.
She circles me slowly, squinting like a tailor sizing up fabric.
“Modern cocktail, I’m told.” I smooth my palms down my sides, knowing she doesn’t mean the dress code.
“Minimal. Satin.” Jaclyn twists open a bottle of wine from the side table and pours it into plastic cups. “Maybe crepe.”
“I like satin.” Nettie settles into a dusty-rose wingback, knitting needles already clicking.
Zara flings a handful of dress bags on the bed. “Satin is going to skim, not cling.” She yanks a zipper down with her teeth. “And I think I have extra ones.”
A frosted, above-the-knee sparkle statement is thrust against my chest. Glittery. Bold. A little over the top. Exactly the kind Tess would sprint toward.
“I don’t need anything fancy.”
Zoe swaps it for a long champagne number dripping in beads and feathers.
She presses it to my front, head tilted like a stylist. “This one will get his attention.”
“If you actually want his attention”—Jaclyn yanks a white dress from a garment bag, the slit flashing dangerously high—“this is the one.”
“I don’t want anyone’s attention.” I reach past them for a coastal blue dress.
Cute. Covering. Comfortable.
“Sweetie.” Jaclyn plucks it from my hands and tosses it onto the bed without looking. “You don’t have to hide your weekend fling from us.”
I exhale loudly. “You know?”
The room exploded as everyone chirps in.
“Oh, honey.”
“Please.”
“We’ve had eyes all weekend.”
“He’s had eyes for you since the moment he saw you.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Oh.”
Jaclyn drapes a metallic silver off-the-shoulder dress over my arm and smoothes the fabric down my side. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
“I—” I hesitate. “I didn’t realize you all noticed.”
“Did you think we missed the whole not-so-private cinnamon bun lesson?” Zoe crouches and lines a pair of heels beside my feet.
“I didn’t give it much thought,” I admit.
Jaclyn hooks a necklace around my throat. The chain is cold against my skin.
“I think you gave it a lot of thought.” Jaclyn centers it on my neck.
I frown.
She laughs. “Don’t be shy.”
“It’s not shy. I didn’t realize this was an anti-Valentine’s Day thing, and now you’re all dressing me for your single host.”
“We’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Jaclyn swaps the necklace for one with rhinestones.
The room turns into a pit crew.
Zara clears a vanity with a sweep of her arm. Missy drags a chair into the window light. Zoe disappears and reappears, plugging in a curling iron.
Suddenly I’m sitting.
Zoe sections my hair with quick, practised fingers. Zara brushes primer along my cheekbones, and Missy grabs my hand and starts painting my fingernails a dark grey.
“We’ve watched the two of you attempt to be subtle.” Jaclyn rummages through a bag of makeup. “You both failed spectacularly.” She holds a color palette to my face. “Close your eyes. Perfect.”
“You didn’t even try,” Nettie mutters, knitting away in the corner.
Zoe wraps a curl around the barrel. “And the way he keeps touching you.”
She counts under her breath, then releases it. The curl springs warm against my cheek.
I wince. “I feel like I hijacked your weekend by...sleeping with the host.”
Then Jaclyn snorts. “Oh, sweetie. We love it.”
They do?
“This is the happiest we’ve seen Cash in years.” Zoe twists another section of hair.
“He’s lighter. Close your eyes.” Jaclyn dusts a shimmer across my eyelid. “His laugh and the way he looks at you aren’t guarded as they’ve been.”
“He really looks at you.” Zara pumps a dollop of foundation on a brush and blends it into my skin. “Like he’s falling for you.”
I scoff. “He’s not falling for me.”
“He’s never looked at a woman the way he looks at you.” Jaclyn taps my chin. “Close this eye.”
I close the other eye, and she matches the smoky eye.
I wasn’t fishing for evidence of him falling for me, but they offer it all. It’s overwhelming. As overwhelming as this makeover is.
After the finishing touches, I meet my eyes in the mirror, and my stomach flips.
But because of how absolutely stunning I look—and I do—but because I’m pretty sure I’m falling for him too.
They finally step back like artists admiring a finished painting.
Glitter hugs every curve. My hair falls into loose waves. My face is porcelain beauty.
“This is how you get his attention.” Jaclyn squeezes my arms and peers at my reflection over my shoulder. “If you want his attention.”
I do, and they all know it.
Done with me, they scatter. No one sticks to their own room. Everyone pops in and out with dresses, shoes, and jewelry, like we’re swapping costumes backstage.
Zara pads past barefoot, with rollers clipped crooked through her hair. Jaclyn hops into the bathroom, shimmying into shapewear and muttering threats at it.
“I don’t know what the fuss is.” Nettie loops her tan yarn around the needle, her gaze fixed on the television. “It’s just us women. What does it matter if your hair is styled?”
Jaclyn pokes her head out of the bathroom, hair pinned up. “Ma, you're wearing your black nylons.”
Nettie drops the needles onto her lap, annoyed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Black is too harsh for my pink lace dress.”
She grabs her cane, plants it hard, and pushes herself upright. The chair sighs. She smoothes her cardigan and shuffle-steps toward the closet.
Sunlight spills through the windows as she lifts the lace dress out of the closet.
I raise my camera and catch the moment her thumb strokes the lace. A slow, private smile warms her cheeks.
Movement flickers past my lens.
Zoe glides past, still in her satin slip, and rollers fastened.
I backpedal and catch her in the bedroom doorway, shoulder tipped against the frame.
“Don't move,” I whisper, lifting the lens.
She goes statue-still, fingers curling around the trim. “Why?”
“You look cute. Can I take a picture?” My thumb hovers over the shutter.
She glances back over her shoulder, lashes low, and mouth curving into a grin. “Always.”
She shifts her hip. Click. Rolls her shoulder. Click. The satin catches the light. Click, click, click.
By the time we’re laughing, I’m sure I’ve filled half my memory card. I turn the screen toward her.
“Shay, that’s beautiful. They look so boudoir.” She nudges my arm with her elbow. “Can you send me these?”
“Of course.”
“Do me.” Zara perches on the edge of the bed, twisting up a lipstick. She drags the color slowly across her mouth, blotting with a tissue.
The light hits her just right. My finger moves before my brain does, clicking.
After that, I don’t stop shooting.
Rollers.
Half-done eyeliner.
Stockings tugged up one leg.
Slips and lace and bare shoulders dusted with powder.
I drift room to room like a quiet little paparazzi, camera slung around my neck, finding fun and unusual angles.
These aren’t party shots.
Not posed smiles.
They’re private—in-between.
The kind of moments you keep for yourself. The kind you don’t realize are beautiful until you see them frozen on a screen.
The ladies crowd around me one by one, and I watch them see themselves the way I do. Watch them appreciate the moments they never considered beautiful and sexy.
When everyone’s finally dressed, Jaclyn takes the camera from me. She nudges me toward the stairs.
“Go ahead of us.” She slings the strap over her neck. “I’ll bring this down, but we’ll give you a five-minute head start to meet Cash.”
My heart kicks into a sprint. “Okay.”
“Go have a little extra fun for the rest of us who can’t anymore, will you?” Nettie swipes bright red lipstick across Ross's mouth. “Don’t half-ass it, sweetheart. Put your whole back into it.”
Everyone laughs.
“Ma!”
Nettie blows herself a kiss in the mirror. “Some of us can’t climb that mountain anymore, so go enjoy the view.”
Jaclyn rubs her temples. “Mother.”
“If you wake up sore tomorrow, congratulations.”
I smile at them all. “Don’t half-ass it. Climb the mountain. And aim for sore. Got it.”
The girls laugh as they push me out the door. Tess would love them all.
Maybe one day I’ll bring her to an event with them.
But today, enough about Tess.
I walk down the stairs and step outside. The cool night skims bare skin, but doesn’t bite.
He’s already there.
Leaning against the stone railing. His tux is immaculate, with sharp lines, crisp white shirt, and black bow tie. I like him in a suit. I’d like to peel it off him even better.
And the moment he looks up, I know.
Whatever this is, whatever we’re becoming, it’s already written all over his face.
“Hey.” My voice is soft.
He straightens. “Hey.” His hand drops from the railing.
There’s a beat.
Maybe two.
Neither of us moves.
“You, uh...” He exhales a laugh, shaking his head once. “Wow.” His eyes drag slow from my heels to my hair.
I lift an eyebrow, pretending my heart isn’t doing something reckless. “Wow, good, or wow I-should-go-back-inside?”
“Wow, like—” He stops. “You’re beautiful.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” I let my eyes take their time. “A tux suits you.”
His mouth curves into that sexy smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And wearing a shirt.”
He chuckles, warm and low, and another pause settles between us.
This one is heavier. Fuller. Like something’s about to tip us over the edge of everything.
He steps closer.
Our eyes lock, and he lifts his arm.
Slowly.
His hand hovers by my cheek, palm open, not quite touching.