Window Shopping(65)

Jordyn hustles Stella onto a platform in front of the full-length mirror, hushing her protests. My girlfriend stills completely when she sees her reflection, her lips puffing open in surprise.

It’s a wonder that my heart hasn’t climbed out through my mouth and taken off running on little legs toward the dressing room. As the man who has been seeing Stella naked on a regular basis since Monday, I am not surprised that she looks so beautiful. Not a smidge. Whether she’s moaning against the tile wall in my shower, drifting off to sleep to one of my Aunt Edna stories or staring out the window of my living room, brow wrinkled in thought, she’s never not messing with my pulse. Clothed, unclothed, the damn thing is erratic twenty-four seven. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’d cause an EKG machine to start smoking, so no. I’m not shocked in the slightest that she looks like an angel in the dressing room mirror.

But damn, watching Stella notice her own beauty? Watching her turn a little and look over her shoulder to see things from the back? I feel like I’m being let into the place where she’s afraid to let me go.

Our eyes meet in the mirror and just for a second, I am let in.

There’s surprise at seeing me, but then…it fades to wonder. Like she’s saying, “Can you believe this?” And I nod in response, because I can. I believe anything when it comes to her.

“Mr. Cook,” Jordyn says, following Stella’s line of vision and noticing me, where I stand spellbound in the middle of Womenswear. “We’re the only ones in this fitting room. Come here and give us a male perspective.”

A trio of older women walk by, glancing between me and Stella. Whispering to each other with knowing expressions. And I can’t help but tug the side of my shirt collar anxiously. I’m standing out like a sore thumb in women’s petites, aren’t I?

But it looks like Stella is hesitating to buy the dress, even though she clearly loves it, so I swallow my qualms with approaching a customer dressing room and stride my way through the racks until I’m stopped just outside.

Ah Jesus, she looks even more incredible up close.

“Help me out, Mr. Cook.” Jordyn sidles up to me, arms crossed. “Stella needs something to wear tonight to the Christmas party. Tell me this isn’t the perfect dress. I’m wearing red sequins, so on top of making her extra stunning, she should offset me very nicely.”

Stella’s eyes catch mine in the mirror, her lips twitching. Mine do the same.

A couple sharing an inside joke.

I’m thinking about the diamond ring case again. God help me.

Jordyn elbows me in the side, surprising a chuckle out of me. We’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with each other since intervening on Stella’s behalf on Monday. In fact, the morning after the showdown, damn near every Vivant employee said good morning to me on my way up to the tenth floor. On Wednesday, I was invited to happy hour, an invitation I would normally decline, not wanting to be the boss putting a damper on everyone’s good time. But Stella was going to be there, so of course, I went. We sat next to each other without holding hands or touching and that might have felt unnatural, but what didn’t feel unnatural? Just talking to folks. Stella encouraged me to tell a group of salespeople about Aunt Edna and they actually seemed to enjoy it. One of them even said he was excited to introduce me to his partner at the Christmas party. It seems I’m not as much of an outsider as before.

I’ve started working on putting less pressure on myself to make everyone happy at the cost of my own convictions. To appease my family so they’ll treat me like one of their own. And I feel more like myself since letting go of that constant pressure. I can be positive. I can be a cornball until the cows come home. But I draw the line at pretending to be happy when something is wrong. I’m allowed to do that. I’m not letting anyone down by being less than upbeat. And I’m not sure I ever would have given myself that permission until her.

Until Stella.

“Do you like the dress?” I ask Stella now, sliding my hands into my pants pockets so I don’t settle them on her hips instead.

She nods slowly, a smile spreading across her face. “I love it.”

Take it.

I’ll buy it for you in nine colors.

Knowing better, I swallow those words. Stella isn’t uncomfortable taking gifts from me, thank God. But my gut tells me when she needs to achieve something by herself—and this is one of those times. “It’s a great color on you,” I say, my voice about ten octaves below normal.

My eyes find hers in the mirror.

We’re not even going to make it to the bed later.

Her throat works with a swallow. “I’m going to put it on hold until my direct deposit hits.” She leans down to check her phone where it rests on the dressing room bench. “Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Baby’s first paycheck,” Jordyn whoops. “It seems like such a hassle to hoof it back here before the party. Are you sure I can’t put it on my credit card now? You can pay me back later.”

“Positive,” Stella says, turning away from the mirror to face us, her tits so touchable in satin that my hands ball into fists in my pockets. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s really no hassle.”

On her way down from the platform, the toe of her boot gets caught in the hem of the dress and she loses her balance. Her arms flail a little, trying to reestablish her center of gravity, but it’s too late. She’s already pitching forward. I lunge, ripping my hands out of my pockets, just in time to catch her as she falls.