Page 73 of Only Be Mine

It felt strange, how something meant for a single day could feel so permanent. How a dress could carry meaning before it had ever been worn.

For the first time since saying yes, I felt steady.

Like I wasn’t stepping into a future someone else had planned.

Like I was choosing it.

Chapter 26

Cate

Present

“Istill can’t believe it doesn’t fit anymore.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I stared at my reflection, at the careful way the stylist had pinned and released and pinned again, as though my hair were something fragile.

Mr. Woo had said it gently, We’ll take it in here, here, and here, but the truth had landed hard anyway. The dress had changed. Or I had. Maybe both.

The stylist met my eyes in the mirror. “Bodies change,” she said kindly, like she’d said it a thousand times before. “It doesn’t mean anything bad.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her.

I studied myself for another long beat, then finally nodded, decision settling in my chest. “Can you leave it down for now?” I asked. “Maybe show me how to put it up tomorrow? Or we can do it then.”

She smiled, relieved to have direction, and let my hair fall loose again. Dark waves settled over my shoulders, familiar and uncomplicated. Me, the way I’d always been.

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll do whatever feels right.”

Whatever feels right.

Amy caught my eye in the mirror. She didn’t say anything this time. Just gave a small nod, like she was letting something go.

By the time we left the salon, my hair looked perfect - glossy, effortless, ready for a life I still wasn’t sure I wanted. I thanked the stylist, made my next appointment, and let Amy walk a half step ahead of me like she always did when she was trying to bite her tongue.

The drive home was quiet.

I pulled into the narrow driveway of the townhome I’d bought five years ago - back when seeing Trevor had turned into dating Trevor, and dating had slowly turned into a future I hadn’t argued against hard enough. The house was dark, just the way I’d left it.

All the blinds drawn. Curtains pulled tight. Even a blanket tacked over the back window, an extra barrier against the sun.

Amy paused behind me. “You still doing the vampire thing?”

I smiled faintly. “Helps with the headaches.”

That wasn’t the whole truth, but she didn’t push.

Inside, the darkness wrapped around me like something familiar. I navigated the room by memory alone, bumping only once into the edge of the coffee table before collapsing into the recliner.

John’s recliner had matched it once.

I’d gotten rid of his, I couldn’t bear to keep it after everything that happened. The memories were too much, too loud.

This one was mine.

Amy kicked off her shoes and sank onto the couch, sitting upright, hands folded in her lap like she didn’t quite belong in the gloom. She glanced around, clearly itching to open a curtain, but, bless her, she didn’t.

We sat like that for a while. The hum of the refrigerator. The distant sound of traffic. My own breathing, uneven and louder than it should have been.