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“You said you don’t have enough nice things with you,” Sean shrugged. “We can get you something new. Or, almost new. It’s the best option on such short notice, at least without having to get on the train in what you’re wearing. But we are going to the business district, so if you want something brand new…”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, this is good enough. I don’t want to get on the train in this.”
He smiles. “I thought not.” He steps inside, and I follow him into a store filled with racks of clothing, and several customers determinedly browsing in search of a bargain.
“How are we going to look through all this stuff?” I ask, staring around. There doesn’t seem to be much of a rhyme or reason to the racks – but when I look up again, I realize that Sean is no longer next to me. He’s moved over towards a counter at the far side of the room, which must be the checkout – and he’s talking to the man standing behind it.
I hurry over, just in time to hear the man nod and tell Sean to follow him – and then we’re both going down a set of stairs and through a door he has to unlock with keys from his belt.
“What is this?” I whisper as we step into another, smaller room, set with just a couple of racks.
“The designer section,” Sean replies. “The most expensive donations. This should be a good place to start, I think.”
I gape at the clothes on the racks. Walking right up to them, I find a tag attached to the dress right on the front with a handwritten price on it.
A price which is far higher than I could ever afford.
“Um,” I say. “Maybe we should just start out there, with the normal clothes.”
“Don’t worry about the price,” Sean says, obviously seeing where my eyes are going. “It’s my treat.”
“You can’t do that,” I exclaim. “It wasn’t you who spilled the drink.”
“But it’s me that’s going to make it right,” Sean says, in a tone that says he won’t hear any more arguments. “Pick out whatever you like. Looks like you can try it on over there.”
The man from behind the desk nods rapidly. “That’s right,” he says. “I’ve got to go back upstairs, but try on whatever you want. When you’re ready, just close the door behind you and I’ll lock up later.”
“Thank you,” Sean says, nodding to him as he leaves the room. He casts his eyes around for a moment and finds a battered vintage armchair to sit down on. “I’ll wait for as long as you need. Go ahead and try something on.”
I want to protest, but I don’t think he’s going to let me. And it would be nice to get a new dress. And it’s not like I can afford these clothes at vintage prices, let alone new.
I take a deep breath and head over to the racks to start browsing.
It’s not long before a sapphire blue velvet dress, that looks like it was first made in the 90s, catches my eye. It’s long and slinky, and not too low cut in the front – like something a movie actress would wear. Which is pretty fitting, given that Sean already looks like a movie star in his suit. I take it into the one stall and pull the curtain across, slipping out of my dress – and using it to scrub at my chest, where the coffee splashed me. There’s still a little residue there, but once it’s taken care of, I put the blue dress on and turn to look in the mirror.
Except there’s no mirror in here – it’s out there.
I take a deep breath. I have no idea how I look in this dress, but I have to go out there to find out – which means maybe looking terrible in front of Sean. But the quicker I get this over with, the better because he has a dinner to get to and I don’t want to delay him any more than necessary.
I step out, smoothing the dress over my sides, searching for the mirror.
“Wow.”
I look up and see that Sean is watching me. His phone is in his hand as if he was scrolling through it, but he’s ignoring it completely. I blush, then finally find the mirror right next to him. And I see myself.
And actually, he’s not wrong. This is an amazing dress. It makes me look better than anything I’ve ever worn before.
Not bad for a girl who smells of coffee and managed to get lost in the train station.
“We’re buying that one,” Sean says, his eyes running over me again and again. I try to imagine what he sees. Does he notice the curve of my breasts, my hips, under the snug fabric? Or does he only see that I look more like an adult than he expected from his best friend’s daughter? “I don’t care if you want others. That one is a must.”
