Chapter 13 Lucy #3
“There’s like four more dresses to try on.”
“Lucy, if they look anything like this one, I don’t think I can handle seeing you in four more dresses,” he says.
“You’ll live.” I turn back toward the dressing room. “Don’t forget what this one looks like.”
“Trust me, I won’t.”
This time, I put on a short lilac dress with a bead fringe. It’s cute and fun, but I still think it’s gorgeous. Drawing the curtain and revealing the new outfit, I do a little twirl.
“Jesus,” Marsh says under his breath. “I mean, yeah…I like this one too.” His eyes trail down to my legs and my feet that are currently on tiptoes.
“Okay, wait, I want to show you one more!” I run back inside the dressing room.
I disregard the blue velvet dress hanging and go for the black dress with beige and brown flowers all over it, almost giving it a golden hue. It looks breathtaking on the rack, and I hope it fits in all the right places.
Once I slip it on, I admire the detailing. The intentional lace bra trim that’s meant to be peeking through, how it’s a subtle mermaid shape fitted at my bodice, yet flaring out with a column skirt. It would look perfect with black strappy heels.
Marsh’s face immediately drops when I step out. I can’t read him.
“I-I know,” I say. “It’s a lot. I wouldn’t wear it to the rehearsal dinner, but I just wanted to try it on and—”
“I love it,” Marsh says softly, his eyes traveling all over my body and finally locking his gaze to my eyes. “I just…”
“It’s too much?” I look down at myself.
“No.” He smiles. “I think this is the dress…”
My eyes widen. “Like the dress?”
“The dress,” he says.
“Wait, we’re both talking about the dress for the wedding, right?”
“What? No, I meant for the office.”
I let out a laugh. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“I’ve been told I can tell a joke,” he says.
“Have you now?”
“Yes, my niece will stand by that. You can ask her.” Then I get that feeling in my stomach again and all the hairs on my arms stand.
It’s a throwaway line, but it’s inevitable.
Meeting Marsh’s family, getting to see a whole other side of him, makes me nervous.
“But, in all seriousness,” Marsh continues, “anything you wear is perfect. I think it’s clear you could wear anything and still be the best-dressed person there. ”
“Even pajamas?”
“Especially pajamas.”
There’s a warm feeling I’m not quite used to. It’s not lust or attraction this time. There’s this undeniable connection between the two of us. Maybe it’s friendship…but what if it’s something more?
“I’m going to change and then probably go with the first one for the rehearsal dinner and this for the wedding,” I say. “Does that work?”
“Were you not being serious about pajamas?” Marsh frowns. “ ’Cause I was really looking forward to showing up in matching ones.”
I playfully push him, which causes him to stumble back and laugh.
Once we leave the store with two new dresses in hand, it’s almost five p.m. This would be a great time to say our goodbyes and go our separate ways, except I don’t want to.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” Marsh walks alongside me.
The Grove is unsurprisingly busier than it was when we arrived.
There are preteens walking around by themselves, which makes me fascinated by the concept of growing up in LA, women in sleek yoga attire running errands, and families getting in line for the Cheesecake Factory.
“I was just going to probably order some takeout and watch a movie.” I switch my shopping bag to the other hand. “Very exciting stuff.”
He takes the bag from me, and I let him. “Wow, I was going to do the exact same thing.”
“No way.” I pretend to be surprised. “What are the chances?”
“Probably one in a billion?” He shuts an eye. “Saturday takeout and movie nights are almost unheard of.”
“Very rare,” I agree. “What movie were you planning on watching?”
“For some reason, I’m kind of in the mood for Pretty Woman.”
“Well, now this is scary ’cause that’s the movie I was going to watch.” I stop.
“This is getting weird.” Marsh looks at me. “What were you going to order?”
“Am I crazy for craving carbs and cheese?”
“That’s me for probably ninety-eight percent of my day,” Marsh says, and I let out a laugh. We bump into each other as we walk, and all I want to do is loop my arm through his. “I don’t like to brag but…I make a mean grilled cheese.”
This is it. The moment where the ball is in my court and I can decide whether I want to keep playing or call it.
We can continue like this for the next couple of weeks—playfully flirt while I write my stories, all the while pretending to be something we aren’t for the sake of our jobs.
While I’ve done far more risqué things than having grilled cheese and watching a rom-com with someone, I feel like being with Marsh in that setting is crossing a line.
But he’s drawn the line more than anyone.
So, if he’s the one inviting me, it surely means nothing… right?
I look over at Marsh, my eyes settling on his profile. “I can’t say no to grilled cheese.”