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It’s going to be fine.
That was what I kept telling myself as we walked down Addison’s high-end shopping mall strip, heading for the Gilfman Clothier. Harry had never been tailored before, and I found myself stressing. It was his first glimpse into how this life was. His first test to see whether Destelle’s lifestyle freaked him out.
It’s going to be fine.
Harry held my hand as we walked, keeping his head down from the wind. He had a black beanie tucked over his ears, his hair curling out of it. “I’m nervous,” he told me, watching his boots and each step that he made. “Is that weird?”
“Don’t be nervous,” I told him, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s just trying on clothes. It’ll be a piece of cake.”
“I still feel terrible about this, you know,” he said, repeating his mantra from the car ride over. That crease still sat between his eyebrows. “You shouldn’t have to buy me clothes.”
“You’re coming with me to an event, the kind that normally makes me wish I was invisible. It’s the least I could do.”
His eyes, which were glaring and slightly red from the wind, didn’t seem to agree. “Do I want to know how much this is going to cost?”
Given the fact that we were going to Gilfman, a high-end designer company where the ties normally cost one hundred dollars? “Probably not.”
Harry groaned, but squeezed my hand back.
We found Margot standing outside the store when we approached, her back turned toward us. Even from here, I could see she’d changed from her school uniform into her favorite dress pants, which were a black-and-red floral-printed pair. She usually always wore a bright red matching blazer, and sure enough, when she turned, the color was striking. Thick sunglasses completely obscured her gaze, and I couldn’t help but wonder what emotion glinted in her eyes. “There you are,” she greeted in her level voice. “I started to think you got lost.”
“I had to wait until my dad got home from work,” I told her.
Harry gave her a wide smile. “Great to see you again, Margot.”
Margot, with one gloved hand, lowered her sunglasses, letting her eyes peek over their rims. “Been a long time. I almost forgot how fitting of a nickname Harry Hotpants is.”
“I don’t call you that,” I threw out the disclaimer immediately.
Harry, apparently, found it amusing, and laughed. “Well, I’m still flattered.”
“So.” Margot shoved her sunglasses back up, but I knew she was still looking at him. “Do you know what size jacket you wear?”
“I usually wear a large. I like them a bit roomy.” He looked between Margot and me. Me, fighting a laugh, and Margot, who looked at Harry like he’d said something profane. “That’s…not the right answer, is it?”
Margot turned her face to me. “He’s so cute. He’s like a puppy.” She grabbed ahold of the store’s door, drawing it open. “After you, lovebirds.”
The freshness of the store hit me as we walked in, a sharp scent of clean cologne coating the air, and the well-lit shop greeted us. Harry openly gawked at the suits that lined the walls, the rich patterns and pieces catching his eye. “This is…much fancier than I imagined,” he whispered to me, and for the first time, he sounded more distressed than nervous.
“All the men will wear suits exactly like this, so you won’t be anything special,” I said teasingly, but when he didn’t smile, I quickly added, “Unless you don’t want to go, in which case I totally understand.”
“No,” he said quickly. Almost too quickly. “No, I want to go.”
“That’s the spirit,” Margot said from his other side, removing her gloves and sunglasses. “Excuse me?” she called to the man behind the counter. “We need a fitting for this fine gentleman.”
Without wasting a second, the man hurried out from behind the counter. “Of course,” he said with a bright smile, coming closer. “Do you know what size jacket you wear?”
“As it turns out, I do not,” Harry said, winking at me.
“You look to be a 36, maybe a 38-inch chest. Let’s try a few on and see which fits best, shall we?”
Harry grabbed my hand almost like a lifeline, forcing me to walk with him. Margot trailed behind, and when I met her gaze, she grinned. Grinning was rare for her, and very, very contagious. “I’m proud that you asked him,” she whispered to me. “I thought you’d chicken out.”
“Me? Never.” Except for the fact that he really asked me if he could come, so technically I did chicken out. Just a smidge.
The man, Markus, went to retrieve a few suit jackets while we stood in the dressing area. Harry shrugged off his coat and placed it gently over the back of the chair, almost as if he were afraid he’d damage the upholstery.
“I have a few options,” Markus said as he returned, three suit jackets thrown over his arm. “Try this on first.”
