Page 10 of Falling For You

I texted him the next morning.

ANDY

You've been working so hard lately. Let me come over this weekend and cook for you.

ELLIOT

You don't have to do that.

But I'd love it. You're the best, Andy.

I stopped at the store and picked up what I needed for dinner. I wanted to make the potato gratin Diana served the night they invited me over for Doug's birthday. I'd asked her for the recipe after dinner and thought Elliot might like it too.

On the way back to my car, I passed a boutique. On a mannequin near the front window was a simple, fitted black dress that I'd normally walk right past. But something about it made me stop.

The last time I felt this way, I was standing outside the romance section at a bookstore. I was always curious about the section where the women gathered. The bookshelves lined with colorful spines, names of authors I didn't recognize, the paperbacks women carried onto the bus with their thumb holding the page. For years it didn't feel like a section I was allowed to walk into. Like something about me didn't qualify. Then one day I decided that was ridiculous, walked over, and picked up a book from the bestseller table. The rest was history.

There was something about the dress that called to me the same way the romance section had that day, so I put the groceries in the car and walked into the boutique.

A couple of girls browsing the rack next to it looked up when I approached. I knew that look. The quick scan, the half-second assessment like she doesn't belong here. I'd learned a long time ago that the best thing to do was just go about my business.

"That dress is going to look amazing on you." A saleslady appeared beside me. She was put together in a way that made it clear exactly why the girls at the next rack had looked at me the way they did.

"Thank you."

She looked at me, then looked at the rack. She pulled a medium off the hanger and held it out. "You're going to want this one, honey. You're blessed in the front and the back."

Normally that wouldn't be an acceptable comment, but there was something about the way she said it that made me chuckle.

She brought it to the fitting room. I pulled off my jeans and T-shirt, slipped the dress over my head, and turned to the mirror.

The dress was shorter than anything I wore outside my house. The neckline sat lower than I was comfortable with, and the fabric pulled on my chest and my butt in a way that made me feel like I was borrowing someone else's body. The woman looking back at me wasn't the one I saw every morning in the bathroom. She looked like someone I didn't know.

I opened the curtain. The saleslady put her hand over her heart. "Oh, you have to get that. You look so pretty."

She was a saleslady. Of course she was going to say that. She wanted the sale. But I looked back at the mirror in the fitting room.

The dress looked good. I just couldn't decide if it was meant for me.

"It's a versatile piece too," the saleslady said. "You can wear it just like that, or throw an oversized jacket over it with your boots. Totally different look. You'd look hot in both."

I stepped back from the mirror to get the full view.

Did I want to get to know the girl in the mirror?

Maybe.

Did I like her?

I let my eyes travel down the mirror. Then back up.

Yeah. I did.

I bought the dress. I wasn't ready to wear it anywhere. At least, not tonight. Not yet. But what was the harm in having it in my closet for when I felt like it?

Elliot wasn't home yet when I got to his apartment, so I let myself in with my key. I set the table, cooked, put everything out. He came home to the table set and the food ready. He stood in the doorway for a second, looking at me, and then he smiled.

"What did I do to deserve this?"