Bursting at the Seams
“Absolutely!” she grins. Justine walks with her into the dressing room.
It’s only when the door shuts behind them that he glances over to me. I give him a little wave and he looks away. I can’t help but think it’s cute, as it reads as shy to me. Has he maybe gotten in his head a little bit about what’s happened? Or maybe he’s trying his best to be professional, as there is no telling where his sister is lingering. It’s fine, I don’t mind. Besides, Caroline comes out in no time, looking as radiant as ever. The dress is fitting so well, and hugs her slender form perfectly.
Emanuel gets to work, pinning little areas that need minor fixes, and ask her several questions about how she likes the dress and what all she plans to do in it, so that they can make sure she has enough mobility. Caroline blurts every answer like it’s leaping out of her soul. “Oh, it’s just so perfect!” she oozes. “I can’t believe it. This is a dream. Thank you all. Thank you, Wren, for paying for it. I just. I,” she is getting emotional. Jumping to my feet, I head over to her and blot her eyes with a tissue to make sure she doesn’t ruin her makeup. Caroline looks to Emanuel. “You and Hanna, you’re both invited to the wedding. You too, Justine! You are all so kind. Oh, this is so wonderful.”
“I appreciate it,” Emanuel mutters. He chuckles, but I can tell it’s forced. It’s likely more common than Caroline would like to admit in that moment.
After a little while, he’s done with the second fitting and off she goes to change. Just as I try to think of something to say, he walks into his office. Alright, at least I have a little time to get my mind in order and think of something clever or flirty to say. Had my days not been completely dominated by work and the wedding, I might have had a little time to put thought into it.
Caroline walks out in her casual clothes and already, there is a phone glued to her ear. She mouths the name of the wedding planner and motions that she is going to take the call outside. All I do is give a little nod of understanding. She’s out of view and my heart pangs. At last, Emanuel and I will have a little time to ourselves. My dress is hanging on a rack. I take the lead in grabbing it down and heading into the dressing room. I change out of my clothes and slide into the dress. It’s hugging me this time in all the right places.
Just the feel of the fabric brings back more memories, and I let out an uneven breath as I try to compose myself. Stepping out into the fitting area, I see Emanuel standing by the platform with his hands folded and his posture stiff. As he starts my fitting, I comment quietly so only our ears can hear, “I have another pickup line for you.”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” he mutters.
My confidence finally falters a little, not expecting the rejection. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been throwing out signals to be interested in such interactions today. Have I been misreading it this whole time? “Okay,” I breathe. “Well, how have you been doing?”
“Fine.”
That’s all he says. He doesn’t elaborate, he doesn’t return the question. I clear my throat and adjust my posture, trying to swallow down the tense, awkward atmosphere. I don’t know if something has happened between the time we parted ways and now, or if he’s just not wanting to so much as hint at there being anything more while the store is open. Whatever it is, I know not to keep pushing. Falling silent, I allow the fitting to happen as usual.
And yet, as he measures, pins, and adjusts, I feel it again. His hands lingering, his fingertips brushing against the fabric as he moves spot to spot instead of lifting his hand off of me. It confuses me, unsure if he is in a mood and not meaning to, or if it’s intentional to let me know he is interested.
When he measures my hips and he very briefly lets his touch brush against my pelvis, our eyes lock. My breath catches in my throat, seeing the want in his eyes. So he does still feel something between us, he’s just trying to be professional. I like it, I like the playful little game.
“Are you comfortable with me helping you out of the dress?” he asks flatly. “There’s some pins I have in the dress right now that will be tricky to maneuver around.”
“Sure,” I nod.
Moving over into the dressing room, the door shuts behind him. I’m not sure if I should be surprised or not, but he steps behind me, moving me toward the wall with my back to him. My eyes fall to the door separating us from the shoppers lingering within the business, along with our sisters, and the clerk. While it goes down to the floor, the top of it doesn’t meet the ceiling. There’s at least a couple of feet of open air between us and the rest of everyone. Meaning if any noises are made, they will be heard.