“It must have been strange. To get to know Birdie as an adult.”
“I don’t think I have yet,” I admit, watching Birdie pick up a Pepto-colored creation and promptly hang it back up. “Not even close.”
“Is that why you came today?” Naomi asks softly.
My nod feels stiff. “Probably too late. It’s already been six months of going through the motions. She has no reason to think I’d want to change that. Only that I’d feel obligated.”
“Which is the truth?”
“I want to,” I say firmly, meaning it.
“Trust that she’s smart enough to see that.”
We both look down to find her hand on my arm. I know she’s going to snatch it back before she actually does it, so I catch her wrist. “Hey.”
Her pulse jumps under my fingertips. “Yes?”
“I don’t like the way we left things last night.”
“You don’t?”
If I wasn’t intent on straightening things out, I might have laughed over her breathy, little answers. “No. I don’t like the way we leave things any night, frankly. But last night was worse because you, uh…I upset you.” I notice a woman watching us over the top of the rack and raise an eyebrow at her until she keeps moving. “Friendly fire is all well and good. But I don’t like upsetting you.”
She shifts, and I actually hear the seam of her jeans rasp together, turning my mouth dry. “Could have fooled me. I accept your apology, nonetheless,” she whispers, searching my face. “You’re different today. Did you have some sort of middle-of-the-night epiphany?”
“Didn’t sleep much, so I definitely had time.” Our eyes stay locked for several beats. “Hard to explain, but…I’m trained to see things from the perspective of my teammates. Could be that having Musgrave around made me take a look at myself.”
“And having him around made you realize you shouldn’t say dick to a lady?” Naomi’s hand flies out of my grip to smack directly over her mouth. “I did not just say that.”
Laughter builds in my chest. “Now you’ve done it. The ball gowns heard you and everything. You’ve scandalized the sequins.”
“Stop it.” She smacks me in the arm. “Don’t tell Birdie. I’ve just gotten her to stop saying the F word every time she breathes.”
“Which F word is that?”
“Oh no. You won’t trip me up twice, Blackbeard.” With an exaggerated eyelash flutter, she starts to give me her back in favor of the dress rack, but turns to face me again with a serious expression. “I’m glad Musgrave’s visit nudged you into getting more involved.” She wets her lips. “It means a lot to Birdie that you came today. I can tell.”
“Musgrave being here made me take notice that I’m missing out on sweet Naomi by being an asshole.” My hand moves out of the need to touch her, my fingertips dragging up her bare arm. “Realizing I need to get more involved with Birdie…that’s your doing, beauty queen.”
I walk away before I do something stupid like try and kiss her in the middle of pageant dress hell. And I head over to take my place among the long-suffering gentlemen in the seating area outside the changing room. Jesus, she’s not available for kissing. When is the rest of me going to accept what my mind already knows?
*
Naomi
“Birdie, is everything okay in there?”
Silence ticks by. “Er. Yes? I don’t know.”
The woman assisting her daughter in the dressing room beside ours passes me a curious look. I send her a baleful glance in return that immediately reminds me of my mother.
“What was that groan about?” Birdie calls.
“Genetics.” I shake myself. “I’m coming in.”
“My turn to groan.”
Ignoring her theatrics, I ease the curtain aside just enough to sneak in—and my mouth falls open. Birdie is standing on the small pedestal in a rose-pink strapless gown, hugging her elbows with a pale face. Her awkward posture doesn’t take away from the dress’s influence, however. I’ve been watching girls walk in and out of these dressing rooms for half an hour and none of them have taken my breath away like Birdie. Yes, I’m biased. She is stunning in the gown, though—yet she seems more distressed than elated.
“Birdie Bristow,” I breathe. “It’s incredible. You’re incredible. How does it feel?”
“I just want to take it off.”
The tremor in her voice stirs alarm in my belly. “Okay. Let’s take it off. We can try the blue one.” She doesn’t move. And when I try to slide my hand beneath her arm to reach the side zipper, she stiffens and doesn’t budge. She’s frozen. “Birdie, what’s wrong?”
A hiccup tumbles out of her mouth. “I can’t do this.” Tears fill her eyes where none existed before. “I look just like Natalie in this dress, but I’m not her. I can’t be her.”
“You don’t have to be. No one wants you to be anyone but Birdie.”
“You’re wrong. They would have stayed if she’d been the one to live.” The words are delivered between chattering teeth and I can barely make them out, but I do and my heart wrenches up to my throat. She has to be talking about her parents. Oh Lord. There’s so much more here than a girl who doesn’t like a dress. How long has she been holding these damaging thoughts inside of her? “Get me out of this thing. I’m like a cheap knockoff.”