“Why don’t they have anything pink?” Makenna whines from behind me. “I guess this plum one will have to work. Whoa, Cal. You look . . .” She fans at her eyes. “Good enough to make me cry.”
“Jeez, Makenna, save all that for when one of us—likely you—is getting married. This is a banquet with borrowed dresses.” She bawled when we went prom dress shopping, too. She’s a habitual crier.
After we’re both settled on dresses, the saleswoman reminds me that I’m supposed to get shoes, so she leads me into another room, measures my foot, and stacks six different pairs beside me on a little couch. I end up selecting a simple pair of glossy black platform peep-toe pumps with a five inch heel. I catch a glimpse of the $350 price tag as the saleswoman carries them away, and I nearly have a heart attack.
I fish my phone out of my purse and send Wes a text. I can’t let him spend that kind of money on my shoes.
Me: ‘I’m not letting you buy shoes. I’ll find some less expensive ones somewhere else. But thank you for the sweet offer.’
He immediately replies.
Wes Baxter: ‘Nonsense, Cal. I’m paying for the damn shoes. If I was worried about the money, I wouldn’t have offered.’
I don’t know how to take his reply. Is he offended, thinking that I implied he can’t afford them?
Wes Baxter: ‘You can show me your appreciation tomorrow.’
Nevermind. He’s not offended. Probably just stuck in Sexy Suit CEO mode since he’s at the office.
Me: ‘Much safer to show you now. You can consider yourself thoroughly appreciated. Thank you.’
The saleswoman meets us up front with my shoes and our dresses safely stored in zippered bags. “Please give us a call tomorrow if you run into any issues with the dresses. We can always make some minor last-minute alterations. Oh, and Mr. Baxter asked me to give these envelopes to you before you leave. Enjoy your banquet, ladies.”
Makenna makes a weird face as we exit. “Mr. Baxter? Doesn’t she know there are three of them? Which one?”
But when I look down at my name scrawled across the front, I know exactly which one.
CHECKING THE TIME, I reapply my lip gloss and make sure my hair is in place. This has been unlike any Saturday I can remember. I expected today to be nerve wrecking, but it ended up being quite relaxing. I didn’t have to do a thing other than tell people what I wanted. It was an oddly empowering thing.
The envelopes we received yesterday held certificates to a day spa, promising a day of massages, manicures, pedicures, hair styling, and makeup. All courtesy of Wes. I didn’t mention to Makenna that mine had an additional note tucked inside. I’ll keep that my little secret.
Callie,
You don’t need any of this to be beautiful, but you deserve to be pampered for putting up with me. Thanks for agreeing to be my date. And for saving me from my mom’s wrath.
Until tomorrow,
Wes.
If it hadn’t been for the sweet first line, I might have shown it to Makenna, but as it stands, she’d read way too much into it. Despite what he says, he’s naturally flirty, and that’s all that is.
“Callie, they’re here!” I hear Makenna’s favorite stilettos clicking on the floor as she darts through the kitchen. The front door squeaks as it opens, and I hear the deep reverberation of their voices carrying through our dorm. It’s that sound that releases the swarm of butterflies.
Taking a deep breath, I step into my shoes—loving that I’m immediately taller—and take one last look in the mirror. Everything looks as good as it can possibly get, but I’m suddenly rethinking my hair. I opted to leave most of it down in cascading, loose curls to cover my exposed back, but now I’m wondering if I should’ve had it all up. I don’t know if I look formal enough.
“Wow. You’re stunning.” Wes catches me off-guard. In so many ways. I’ve seen him in suit, but a tuxedo on him is . . . damn. I never thought a little black bow tie could be so sexy.
I try to regain my bearings by teasing him. “Don’t you ever knock?”
“No. Real friends don’t have to.”
God, those eyes. That insanely perfect smile. Is he trying to kill me? “Ready to go?”
He screws up his face and looks at me funny. “Something’s missing.” He looks under the curtain of hair at my ears before digging in his pocket and pulling out a small, flat velvet box.
I’m sure the look of horror sweeping across my face does nothing but amuse him. “Uh.”
“Relax. Just open it.” When I don’t take it from him, he flips the lid open, revealing a teardrop shaped onyx pendant on a sterling silver chain with matching earrings. It somehow matches my dress perfectly, including the silver beading. “Don’t overheat your brain. I had the woman at the dress shop send me a picture of the dress, so I could get you something that matches. It’s yours to keep. Another little ‘thank you’ for coming with me.”