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“Boyfriend,” I corrected. “Put them back.”

“But—”

“Put. Them. Back.”

She stilled for a beat, then nodded tightly and hung the hangers back on the rack.

“Leave us,” I clipped.

“Come along.” She motioned for Elizabeth to follow her. “We’ll give them a moment.”

“Nick?” I tipped his face up by the chin, forcing him to look at me. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” His lip trembled. “I just got excited and forgot where I was.”

“What do you mean?”

“I picked some stuff I shouldn’t have.” He tried to look away, but I held his chin in place.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes brightened with unshed tears.

“Nicky?” I said.

He gave me a wobbly smile. “You…called me Nicky.”

“Is that okay?” I asked softly.

“Yeah.” He half smiled, the liquid gathering on his lashes. “I like it.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“I just did. I picked some stuff I shouldn’t have.”

“Show me what you picked.”

“I… I don’t think I should.”

“Please.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

On the rack of clothes Nick had chosen, a pleated black skirt caught my attention, as did a white bodysuit with artistic cutouts, and a sheer black slip dress.

“Do you enjoy wearing clothes that are traditionally for women?” I asked when he didn’t make a move toward the rack.

“Sometimes.” He wrung his hands in front of him. “I mean, I know what’s appropriate and when tonotwear certain things, but my parents are hippies. They don’t believe in gendered clothes or toys and taught us that stereotypes are stupid and gender is a social construct. I forget that just because I think skirts are comfy or bodysuits make me look like a snack, that doesn’t mean other people will be okay with it.”

“Nicky, look at me.”

He peered up at me through his lashes.

“Did you pick these clothes because you liked them?”

He nodded.

“Will you feel good about yourself when you wear them?”

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