Page 168 of Stranger to Love

Carrie shifted back into her formidable, organised self. She hung three separate suits on the banister, each with a matching shirt and a selection of ties. She talked Dad through the fabrics and the cuts with the same precision she used to break down economic theory, treating him with a level of respect that clearly made him stand a little taller. It warmed my heart to see.

Once Dad disappeared upstairs with the first option, Carrie joined Mum and me on the sofa. We sat in a row—a jury of three—waiting for the reveal. The atmosphere in the lounge was thick with a beautiful kind of anticipation. It wasn't just about the clothes; it was about seeing the man who had been the weary backbone of this family finally dress for the future he deserved.

"You ready, Phil?" Mum called out, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"Hang on, hang on," Dad’s muffled voice came from upstairs, sounding uncharacteristically flustered. "This tie is a bloody nightmare."

Carrie smirked, leaning back and crossing her legs. "Don't worry, Phil. We have all afternoon."

I rolled my eyes at Carrie's comment; I had to leave for my shift in less than an hour, and she knew it. But before I could snark back, the stairs creaked, and Dad reentered the room.

The air left my lungs. He looked incredible.

He was wearing a charcoal-grey wool suit that fitted him with a precision Richard’s clothes couldn't possibly manage. The shoulders were sharp, the trousers broke perfectly at his shoes, and the fabric had that expensive, matte sheen of high-quality tailoring. My heart sank and soared at the same time—these weren't Richard's old cast-offs. Carrie bought these for him. She must have spent a fortune getting them based on the measurements I texted her, and she had played it off as a "loan" just to protect his pride.

I didn't even get a chance to throw Carrie a knowing look before she was off the sofa. She moved with effortless grace, stepping up to Dad to fix his collar.

"Hold still, Phil," she murmured, her fingers working the silk tie into a perfect Windsor knot. "A man of your experience shouldn't be undermined by a lopsided tie."

Dad stood there, unusually still, looking at himself in the hallway mirror with an expression that bordered on shock. Next to me, I heard a soft, choked-up sound. I turned to see Mum with her hand over her mouth, her eyes swimming with tears.

"Oh, Phil," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You look so handsome. Like the man I married all those years ago." She looked toward Carrie, her face full of a raw, quiet gratitude. "Whatever happens on Monday, seeing you with this chance... seeing you like this... it’s enough."

The room felt small, crowded with a decade’s worth of struggle finally being pushed aside by a few yards of well-cut wool and the kindness of the woman standing in our hallway. I looked at Carrie, who was still fussing over Dad’s lapels with a focused, professional intensity, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying myself.

She didn't just buy him a suit. She bought him the version of himself he thought he had lost.

Carrie beamed. "Right then," she said, clapping her hands together softly. "That’s one. What about the next? We need to see the full range of 'Executive Phil' before the clock runs out."

The atmosphere shifted from heavy sentimentality to a buzz of genuine excitement. The next ten minutes were a blur of activity—Dad disappearing and reappearing like a model on a runway, gaining a little more confidence with every button he fastened.

The second option was a sharp, authoritative black suit, but it was the third—a deep, rich navy—that really did it. The blue brought out the colour in his eyes and made him look approachable yet completely in command.

We spent the next few minutes locked in a warm, spirited debate. Mum was firmly team charcoal, I was holding out for classic black for the sheer sleekness of it, but Carrie remained utterly unyielding on the navy.

"The navy is the winner," she declared with her signature finality, smoothing a stray thread on his shoulder. "It’s professional, timeless, and frankly, Phil, it’s your colour."

Dad looked at the three suits draped over the sofa, his expression flickering with a bit of the old worry. "Right. Well. Better get these back in the bags then, shouldn't want to crease them before Richard needs them back."

Carrie waved a hand dismissively, her tone so casual it was almost criminal. "Oh, don't bother with that. Richard has more suits than he knows what to do with; he’s actually been complaining about the space they take up." She met Dad’s eyes, her gaze steady and warm. "You might as well keep them all, Phil. You never know—once you land this job, they may come in handy."

The room went quiet for a heartbeat. We all knew the truth. Richard was a mess who lived in tracksuits, and these had never seen the inside of his wardrobe. But the way Carrie said it—as if she were doing Richard a favour by leaving them there—gave my Dad the out he needed to accept them without feeling like a charity case.

"Keep them?" Dad asked, his voice low.

"Consider them a long-term loan," Carrie said with a wink, finally turning to me. "Now, I believe a certain menace has a shift to get to, and we’ll need to leave if I’m going to drop her off in time."

I rolled my eyes as I stood. "I’m not a menace."

"You are."

I gawped at the three of them as they replied in perfect unison. There was something very strange—and slightly terrifying—about having Carrie and my parents simultaneously agree on what a problem I could be. Rude.

Carrie smirked, sharing a look with my parents that felt like a private, inside joke. My heart raced seeing her like that—not just a guest in our home, but a part of the team.

I sprinted upstairs, changed into my work uniform—the standard-issue black shirt and trousers—and tugged my hair back into a quick ponytail. After a round of hugs, I headed out the door with Carrie.

She opened the passenger door for me as she always did, her movements fluid and effortless. As we pulled away, I ran my hand over the cool, luxurious interior of the car.