“I like this one, Clifford.”
“You don’t want to try the pink one?” he asks.
“Nope. This is it.”
“Excellent.” He gently bumps Angelina out of the way and squats next to me with his tape measure, pins, and pencil, marking all the spots he plans to alter.
An assistant I didn’t even realize was in the store whispers over the carpet, depositing a tray with a large pitcher of what looks like fresh minty lemon iced tea, a bowl of strawberries, and a plate of some kind of peanut butter drop cookies.
How cruel.
My mouth waters. Dress or not, I am so stuffing one of those cookies in my mouth when Clifford’s finished with me.
Angelina plucks one of the strawberries out of the bowl, munching on it while she watches Clifford work. “You have to wear your hair up to show off the back of the dress. I don’t think you’ll need any jewelry either. Maybe a bracelet.”
“Oh, jeez. Dawson brought me the prettiest diamond choker to wear to the SSAs. It even came with its own bodyguard for the night.” I chuckle remembering how serious dear old James was about protecting that dang necklace.
“Rooster didn’t mind Dawson giving you a diamond necklace?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. “Wait, why’d you go with Dawson, anyway?”
“It’s…a long story.” I wave the question away. “Rooster didn’t mind. Dawson didn’t give me the necklace. He borrowed it for me to wear for the show.”
“Oh.”
“Stay,” Clifford orders.
There’s a dog joke in there somewhere.
He returns with several shoe boxes. Ugh. All heels. I choose the lowest pair. They’re a shimmery gold with sparkling embellishments, a little bow in the front and a zipper at the heel. I try them on and stand still for Clifford to measure and adjust the dress.
“All set.” Clifford stands and has me turn for him one more time. “Take it off very carefully.”
“I will,” I promise, then scurry behind the screen.
When I emerge, Clifford’s moved on to Angelina.
“And you.” He rests his knuckles under her chin and tips her head back, then angles it to the side. “Thank heavens you ended up with your mother’s lovely bone structure.”
Angelina’s eyes bug. Apparently, Mr. Holtzclaw did his homework before accepting this assignment. Although did he just insult her dad?
“I chose deeper jewel tones to compliment this magnificent curtain of dark hair you have.” He fluffs her hair away from her face.
The assistant returns with gowns instead of cookies this time. One a deep crimson and the other a vibrant purple.
“Oh my.” Angelina’s gaze pings between the two dresses. “Let me try the red one.”
I plop down on one of the chairs and snag a peanut butter cookie or two.
“You all right back there, Angelina?” She hasn’t made a peep yet.
“Almost done!”
A few seconds later, she slides out and poses for us.
“Dang, girl.” I whistle. “That’s stunning.” The dress is both sexy and elegant on her tall, curvy frame.
“I really love it,” she says, moving forward. The long skirt swishes around her ankles like rolling lava.
“Oh, I can’t wait to take pictures together,” I gush. “The dark red and pale gold will look really pretty next to each other.”
“No one’s going to want pictures of me, Shelby. I’m only there as Dawson’s random arm candy.”
“Pssh.” I wave that off.
Another hour and we’re set free from the dress shop.
“Dresses, done!” Angelina pumps her fist in the air as we step onto the sidewalk outside.
“Shoes, check!” I add.
“Transportation, Dawson’s problem.” She laughs.
We decide to check out the other shops in the area and continue along the sidewalk.
“You’re okay with going to the show, right? You don’t seem to like Dawson very much.” Woo, I can’t believe I said that out loud, but it’s been bugging me for a couple of days now.
“I like Dawson. I’m just leery of musicians in general.”
“Your dad’s a musician,” I point out.
“And who do you think insisted I steer clear of rock stars?” She raises an eyebrow. “Dad always warned me,” she lowers and deepens her voice, “they’re druggies, sexist pigs, cheaters, or all of the above.”
“Are you sure he just doesn’t want you dating anyone?”
“He’d probably be fine if I settled down with a nice, docile banker or something.”
“Oh!” I stop so fast Angelina smacks into my side.
“What?”
“I want to look in here for a second.”
She eyes the lingerie store. “Lucky bitch.”
“Not gonna argue.”
“Seriously, though,” she says, following me inside. “Rooster’s an impressive specimen.”
“I know.” I flick a look at her that she must read as back off.
She holds her hands in the air. “I’m speaking in a totally objective way. The man is f-i-n-e.” Her expression softens into something more wistful. “The way he looks at you makes him a thousand times hotter, though.”
“Thanks.” I really need to work on tamping down my jealous side.
We wander through the racks. I slide a few hangers to the side, peeking at different items. Nothing really grabs my interest.