Page 97 of His Good Girl

“Yes.”

“Because Benjamin will ascend through the ceiling and return as vengeance incarnate?”

A laugh escaped me. “Also yes.”

She smiled a little, then reached over and took my hand. Her palm was cool from the wineglass. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

“Actually, I do. The skirt is a pretty specific RSVP.”

“No. You have to decide what to wear tomorrow. That is not the same as deciding your entire life.”

“It feels like the same.”

“That’s because you’re dramatic.”

“I am not dramatic.”

“You were kissed once and ordered Thai food just so you could process everything.”

“I ordered Thai food because he told me to eat.”

Jules stared at me. Then she slowly grinned. “Oh, this is worse than I thought.”

“Don’t.”

“He ordered you to eat and you obeyed?”

“I was hungry.”

“Were you?”

“Eventually.”

“Avery Melissa Hale.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you love me because I am the only thing standing between you and becoming a woman who buys pencil skirts at sunrise while muttering, ‘This is a choice, not a cry for help.’”

We both stared at each other.

Then she said, “Do you own a black pencil skirt?”

The answer, tragically, was yes.

It was in the back of my closet, a remnant from an interview phase where I had believed the right clothes could manifest the right life. It was fitted, high-waisted, and incredibly flattering. I had not worn it in over a year because it made me feel like I was trying to intimidate a room I was not sure I belonged in.

Jules made me try it on.

“I’m not deciding tonight,” I said through the bathroom door.

“Of course not.”

“I’m just checking fit.”

“Pure logistics.”

“This is practical.”