“Melissa,” Kayla calls, “if you’re naked, announce yourself now so I don’t get traumatized.”
I laugh despite myself and open the door.
She takes one look at my face and softens. “Oh. Okay. Big feelings.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit. “I haven’t done this in years. I don’t even know who I am on a date anymore.”
She drops her bag on the bed and turns to me fully. “You’re a woman going to dinner with a man who chased down an elevator for your number. Start there.”
That helps. A little.
I sit on the edge of the bed while she starts pulling clothes from my closet with purpose.
“So,” she says casually, “what are we working with tonight? Soft and approachable? Hot and dangerous? Emotionally unavailable but devastating?”
“Kayla.”
She grins. “Kidding. Mostly.”
I watch her hold up a dress, then another, then toss both aside. “Okay, here’s the thing: You’re not trying to be someone else. You’re reminding him who you are.”
My throat goes dry. But he doesn’t even know me outside of scrubs. What if he doesn’t like that version of me? I haven’t forgotten that he’s richer than I could even comprehend.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly. “What if I freeze? What if I feel guilty? What if I go home and cry for reasons I can’t explain? What if I get so horny that I jump him?”
She comes to sit beside me, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Then you cry. And I hand you wine. And we unpack it like emotionally evolved adults who still gossip like teenagers. Or you jump him and have hot, intense, ravaging sex, in which I still demand you come to me and we gossip like teenagers.”
I smile, eyes stinging.
“And,” she adds gently, “you’re allowed to want something again. That doesn’t erase what you had. It means you survived it.”
That hits deeper than I expected. I did survive it. And it has made me a better person in every possible way. It slowed my life down and gave me direction.
Eventually, we settle on simple. A dress that feels like me. It’s nothing flashy. A black dress that hugs my body, but has some ruching that makes me feel like I can at least eat what I want and possibly hide any bloating. We pair it with simple, comfortable black heels.
Kayla does my hair, fussing more than necessary, then steps back to assess her work.
“Okay,” she says. “You look incredible. Not trying. Not performing. Just … you.”
I check in the mirror. My hair is down in natural, flowing waves.
“One last thing,” she grabs a tube of lipstick off the bathroom counter and holds it up.
“Just a little sass. If you feel comfortable with it. But I’m telling you, he won’t be able to keep his eyes off your lips if you wear this.”
I purse my lips as I contemplate it. Then I think about driving someone like Colton crazy, and the idea sends a bit of electricity through my body. I grab the tube and face the mirror.
She smiles. “Thatta girl.”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I put the lipstick in my purse and check myself one last time in the mirror, then check my phone.
Colton: I’m outside whenever you’re ready. I tried to come up, but your building has some tough security.
My pulse spikes.
Kayla catches my expression and grins. “That him?”
I nod, and she squeezes my hands once.
