“Real talk. I realized last night that I didn’t pack enough clothes.” I gesture at myself. “I have like two shirts and one pair of jeans left. We’re here until Monday.”
“You seriously didn’t pack enough clothes?”
“In my defense, I thought this was only a few days. Like three days tops.”
“It’s six days, Rodriguez. How did you think—” She stops. “Oh my god. You really didn’t know when you agreed to come.”
“I know now!”
She’s trying not to laugh, actually trying and failing, her shoulders shaking slightly. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Wear the same shirt multiple days? Pretend it’s a fashion statement?”
“You can’t do that. My family will definitely notice.” She pulls out her phone. “There’s a mall about a twenty-five minute walk from here. We can grab you some basics before the brewery tour starts.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Rodriguez. You’re doing me a massive favor by being here. The least I can do is make sure you don’t smell by day four.”
“I wouldn’t smell.”
“You would 100% smell.”
We finishour coffee and head out into the cold Toronto morning. And it is freezing, the cold air makes my lungs ache. I’m glad I packed my heavy coat and Juliette’s wrapped in a wool peacoat and boots that look like they could survive an arctic expedition.
The walk to Eaton Centre takes us through downtown, past buildings that are mostly glass and steel mixed with beautiful older brick architecture. Juliette points out places she used to go as a kid, telling me about the rink where she first learned to skate as we walk.
She’s more relaxed here, like being back in Toronto has loosened something in her that’s usually wound tight.
The mall is crowded even on a Wednesday morning. We find a store that has the basics and Juliette immediately goes into organization mode, pulling things off racks before I can even lookat them properly.
“You need warmer layers,” she says, holding up a dark gray thermal shirt. “Try this.”
I take it from her and she’s already moved on to another rack.
“And another pair of jeans, what length are you? What about a half-zip sweater for the rehearsal dinner?”
She’s enjoying this, completely in her element, organizing and planning and making sure everything is perfect. And I’m letting her because watching Juliette Chastain boss me around about clothing is somehow the best part of my morning.
“This one,” she says, holding up a charcoal sweater. “It’ll look good with your coloring.”
“You’ve thought about my coloring?”
Her face goes pink. “It’s basic color theory. Not everything is flirting.”
“Didn’t say it was. But you’re blushing.”
“I’m not—shut up and try this on.”
I grab the sweater and a few other things she’s picked out, disappearing into the fitting room.
When I come out, she’s examining a display of winter accessories. Scarves, beanies, gloves, all arranged by color.
And there it is. A scarf and beanie set in deep sapphire blue, the exact shade that would look incredible with her dark hair. Without thinking, I grab it and add it to my pile while she’s distracted.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say when she comes back with more items. “I appreciate the help but I don’t need a whole new wardrobe.”
“You need to look good for this week.”
