Page 52 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“Octavia,” I called.

“Yes, dear?”

“This is designer.”

“Most things are designed by someone.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Put it on before you start judging.”

“I’m not judging. I’m financially panicking.”

“Same sound from you.”

I put it on.

It wasn’t a perfect fit, because thrift-store miracles still respected physics, but close enough that I looked at my reflection in shock. The dress made me seem taller and more elegant somehow. It didn’t erase me or disguise me as someone else. It made my scrappy competence look like a strategy.

When I stepped out, Octavia and Rafe went still.

That shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did. Stillness wasn’t praise. Stillness could mean many things, including “I have just realized this intern is going to cost more than anticipated.” But neither of them spoke right away, and the quiet felt different from before.

Octavia recovered first. “There she is.”

I looked at Rafe; his face had become very composed.

“Yes,” he said.

“One syllable,” I said. “Devastatingly informative.”

“The dress is right.”

“Right as in adequate, or right as in I won’t be mistaken for a caterer who got ambitious?”

His gaze dipped briefly to the beadwork at my wrist, then came back to my face. “People will look at you twice, and on the second look they will wonder how they missed so much the first time.”

My mouth parted, but no words came out.

Octavia simply turned away and began rummaging through a glass case of jewelry as if men said things like that to me all the time.

They didn’t.

“That’s almost encouraging,” I said, because if I didn’t make a joke, I might do something embarrassing like thank him sincerely.

“It was meant to be encouraging.”

“You may want to warn people before you’re unexpectedly complimentary.”

His mouth curved again, small and reluctant. Ah. The almost-smile, as if joy were a limited resource.

Octavia returned with earrings and a narrow bracelet. “These. Nothing at the throat. Let the neckline work for you. Hair up, but not severe. You’ve got a neck. Use it.”

“I love when fashion advice sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Beauty is war with better lighting.”

Rafe looked at Octavia. “I suspect my mother would like you.”