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The door to the dressing room opens, and Ellis strides out in the bright orange, silk jumpsuit, her dark hair spilling around her shoulders. It’s sleeveless–the absolute worst considering the temperature–and as previously anticipated, it’s ugly.
Not Ellis.
She’s not ugly.
Just the outfit.
“It smells like salami,” she says, and I burst out laughing, shoving my phone into my pocket.
“You look–” My words fizzle out. I don’t want her to think I’m insulting her.
“Like a chic prison inmate? Like I skinned an Oompa Loompa and took up fashion design?” My laugh comes out harder than I expected, booming through the entire thrift store. I’m certain at least four old ladies and the young mom with no less than five million teacups in her cart turn around to look at us. I don’t bother being embarrassed. “Yes,” Ellis insists. “I know, Finn!”she huffs. “Unfortunately, the other options are ugly too, and we are running out of time. Where’s the black dress you found?”
I lift it up from where it sits next to me on the bench, and she moves forward, tripping on the too-long legs of her prison uniform before snatching it out of my hands and disappearing.
“Nobody calls me Finn,” I inform, listening to her shuffle around and watching the black dress fly up and settle across the top of the door.
“Well, I do!” she says. There’s a brief pause before she speaks again. “Oh, my god.”
I hear the panic in her voice and instantly stand up, moving closer to the door. “What?” I ask, not really knowing what to do with my hands–or my feet–or anything.
“Oh, my god!” she repeats, a little louder, and I risk a gentle knock.
“Ellis, what is it?”
“The salami suit from hell is stuck! I blame you!” There’s no real heat to her words, but I can tell she’s still working to get the thing off by the sounds of fabric and frantic movement.
I chuckle, leaning closer to the door as if it’ll help her hear me. “Use the buttons.”
“It’s a zipper, and it’s not going down. This is a disaster.”
I grunt. “Your birthday? A disaster? Not on my watch.”
The door cracks open, and she pokes her head around from the other side, looking back and forth like she’s about to commit a crime.
That’s when she grabs my arm and drags me into the dressing room with her.
“Is this legal?” I question.
“You have to help me. I can’t be stuck in this suit. You planned this day, and I’m paying you good money, Finn. Fix the zipper.”
My mouth quirks up at the corner when she calls me Finn, noting that I’m smiling an awful lot in her presence. She turnsaround, pulling her hair over one shoulder, and I think I malfunction for a moment. “I’m not Ted Bundy,” I say, lifting my hands to the half-undone zipper at her back, lingering and scared to touch her.
“I know! Just help me out of this thing.”
I carefully touch the zipper, giving it a gentle tug. It doesn’t move. “Definitely stuck.”
She laughs, and something in me relaxes at the fact that she isn’t angry–she’s still laughing.
I tug a little harder. “You don’t have a boyfriend that’s going to kill me for undressing you in this Goodwill, do you?”
She laughs again–a soft breathy sound–and I pull at the fabric, trying to get it loose from the zipper so I can slide the thing down. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for her to answer and try not to think about what I’m doing or the soft feel of her skin beneath my fingertips.
“That was a loaded question,” she says just as I get the thing to move. With each slide, I can see more of her back, and it is in no way unpleasant.
Not even a little.
I bite on the side of my cheek, my entire body becoming warm, but I keep my tone cool. “Was it a loaded question?”
