Connor finds me almost exactly twenty minutes later in the Romantasy section of the shop. I’m too busy reading the blurb of a new release to notice him walk up behind me, so I jump when I hear his voice close to my ear.
“Looks like your basket is already full.”
I take a moment to get my heart rate back to normal after being jump-scared, then grin at him, one eyebrow raised.
“There’s always room for romance.” I add the book I was holding to the precarious pile in my basket. It’s only then that I notice his hands are full of bags. “You’ve been busy,” I say, surprised.
His face falls, and he suddenly looks uncomfortable.
Did I say something wrong?
“Yeah, about that—”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, it’s none of my business.”
“Well, it is, actually.” He puts some of the bags down on the floor and uses his now-free hand to rub the back of his neck.“Don’t be angry with me, okay?”
“Don’t give me a reason to be angry.” I glance down and see a glimmer of emerald green satin peeking out of one of the open bags.
“I could see you were getting worked up in the shops, and you were dismissing everything. I was worried you would end up going home with nothing and feel shit. So I went back to the shops and chose some stuff so you don’t have to. I thought you could try it all on at home where the lighting isn’t horrible and you’re more comfortable.” His words fall out of his mouth in a rushed jumble. He seems nervous, which is not a side I’ve ever seen of Connor. “What are you thinking?” he asks when I don’t speak for several seconds.
I just stand there gawping at him like a goldfish. “Honestly?”
“Always,” he says without hesitation.
“I don’t know whether it’s sneaky and insulting” – Connor winces at my words – “or the sweetest, most considerate thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I think we should go with the second one!” Connor raises his hand as if taking part in a vote. “Definitely the second one.”
I laugh, and Connor joins me, clearly relieved that I’m not biting his head off.
“Thank you.” I step closer and pull him into an awkward one-armed hug.
“My pleasure,” he says genuinely.
I bend down to pick up my basket and start towards the till to pay for my hoard, but a terrible thought stops me in my tracks. Connor bumps into me from behind and almost drops the bags he’s carrying.
“Woah, you okay?”
I turn slowly to face him. “You bought me clothes.” It comes out as a statement as I try to process my thoughts.
“Yes, and we’ve already agreed to not be angry about that.”
“But you don’t know my size.”
My heart is in my mouth, and my stomach has dropped to the floor, leaving a gaping void in my midsection. Did he guess my size? What if he’s automatically picked up the size he thinks women should be and they’re too small when I try them on later? How will I tell him I’m too fat for them? Or what if he overcompensated for my size and bought everything three sizes too big? I don’t think I could cope with seeing that number on my clothes. My mind spins with the possibilities, each more humiliating than the last. I look up at Connor’s confused face.
“Of course I know your size. I know your shoe size and favourite shampoo as well, FYI. Just give the clothes a chance?”
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. I head towards the counter and pick up one of the ridiculously soft cashmere blankets on the way. If I’m going to have a breakdown today, I might as well be comfortable.
I am so uncomfortable. All of the clothes Connor chose for me are spread out across my temporary room: some laid out carefully on the bed, others hung from the wardrobe and curtain pole. They’re beautiful, every single item, and exactly what I would choose for myself if I had the body for them. I’ve been standing staring at them all for twenty-five minutes, trying to pluck up the courage to try something on. The thought of looking in Ivy’s full-length mirror in one of these outfits makes me nauseous. The prospect of showing Connor, who has been waiting patiently in the living room all this time, brings bile to my throat.
I decide to bite the bullet and try on the green dress. What’s the worst that can happen?
You’re going to look disgusting.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I continue to undress regardless. Connor has been so kind in trying to help me, the least I can do is try them on. Even if it breaks me a little inside. I keep my eyes from the mirror in the corner of the room, desperately avoiding looking at my reflection. I don’t want to see my wobbly tummy, the cellulite covering my thighs or my visibly asymmetrical boobs.
