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She rushes out my front door and returns five minutes later, huffing and puffing.
“Did you just run home?” I ask.
“Yep, and I’ll never do it again.” She hands me a gift bag. “Happy birthday, babe.”
Inside is a small jewelry box.
“Before you say anything, no, we’re not twelve. I saw these and thought you’d like them because you’re a bit of a sappy bitch.”
I open the box and find two delicate bracelets inside—one with a tiny wave, the other with a shell.
“The wave is yours,” she says. “The shell is mine.”
I look up at her. “G…”
“You moved here and somehow became my favorite person in, like, five minutes.” She waves a hand between us. “Don’t make it weird.”
I try not to cry but don’t quite manage it. Pulling her into a hug, I squeeze her tightly.
“This is amazing. Thank you.”
When I pull back, her eyes are glassy too.
“Fuck you, Blair. I loved my makeup today.”
We both laugh, wiping beneath our eyes.
I’m so unbelievably lucky to have found her.
“Right.” G throws herself face down across my bed, propping her chin in her hands. “What are you wearing on your birthday not-date?”
“Does that even make sense?”
“Kind of fitting for the situation, don’t you think?”
I take an outfit into the bathroom and change before stepping back into my bedroom.
“How about this?”
I’ve settled on a rust-colored miniskirt, black tights and a cream sweater that hugs me without trying too hard. Brown knee-high boots make it practical enough for walking around all afternoon, and I grab my camel coat for when the temperature inevitably drops.
I leave my hair in loose waves, pinning the front pieces back with a small gold clip, then add my hoops and the wave bracelet G gave me.
Cute.
Casual.
Definitely not dressed for Dean Ashford.
We’ve established I’m a terrible liar.
“This is going to kill him.” G grins, looking me over. “I wish I could see his face when he picks you up.”
I laugh, but internally, I’m already wondering whether tonight might finally be the night Dean stops walking away from me.
Seventeen
Dean
