Page 167 of Never Not Friends

“Oh, I do.” She holds the shirt against my chest, stepping closer to examine her choice. “Which is why I need to see you in this.”

I look down. “I would never wear this out in public.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“When have I ever worn sailboats?”

She laughs, way too pleased with herself. “A one-hundred-dollar golf shirt that we can get for fifteen dollars? It’s a no-brainer. Even if it’s kind of ugly.”

“So you admit it’s ugly and that you’re only buying it for the good price?”

“You know how much I love finding a good deal at Last Chance.” She grins up at me, and whatever complaint I was about to make about the shirt disappears. Because I’m here with Emma, doing something that is so her.

I could’ve taken her anywhere tonight, but one of my favorite things about her is how excited she gets when she finds something ridiculously expensive for twenty bucks. So, instead of a fancy restaurant, we’re standing under fluorescent lights in a discount store while she tries to make me buy a shirt that forces me into a nautical hobby I don’t even want.

And I’m having the best time.

“You have to at least try it on,” she says. “That was the game. We each get to pick something for the other person.”

“I know the game. I came up with it.” I grab the shirt from her. “Fine. I’ll try it on, but just know I still have to pick something for you.”

She smiles sweetly, and man, I’m hooked on this woman.

“What? You’re going to purposely pick out something I won’t like?”

My expression turns dead serious. “No, I’m going to purposely pick out something you’ll look incredible in.”

Her smile freezes for half a second.

Then the blush starts.

I point to the pink glow. “I think you were lowballing me last night when you said I’m only five percent responsible for your blush.”

She touches her cheek. “I was not.”

“Sure you were,” I whisper into her ear as I pass, close enough that I feel the spike in my heartbeat. I keep walking before I do something like dive my nose into her hair and breathe in her scent like her smell sustains life.

I slide one hanger aside on the rack. Then another. “Let’s see what we can find for you.”

The first few dresses aren’t Emma. Too flashy. Too revealing. Too plain.

I stop on an emerald-green cotton dress. “What about this?”

She’s immediately suspicious. “Why that one?”

“Try it on.” I pull it from the rack.

“That wasn’t my question.”

“You love wearing jewel-toned colors. Green’s your favorite, right? This one’s perfect for you.”

Her face changes—that tiny look she gets every time I remember something she doesn’t expect me to.

“Vinny, I told you that when we were, like, fifteen.”

“So?”

She looks at me for another second then takes the dress. Our fingers brush around the hanger, and neither one of us rushes to let go.