Page 16 of The Mouse and the Maestro

“Let me help you,” Nick said.

“You want to help me pack?” she clarified.

“Yes. I know what looks good on you. Come on.” He took her hand, led her to her bedroom, and began sifting her wardrobe.

“This is weird,” Jane said.

“This is not weird. Friends consult each other over what to wear all the time,” Nick said.

“But you’re more than my friend. There are all the other layers.”

“Consider this a new layer—fashion consultant.”

“How come you never cared what I wore when we were together?” she asked.

“Who says I never cared? I judged you incessantly,” he said.

“Maybe those could be the thoughts you reject before they come out of your mouth,” Jane suggested.

“You dress like a puritan, Janie.”

“I work at a museum, Nick, not a strip club.”

“There’s no law saying you can’t do both. Think of the money you could make with a second job. Where’s the dress you wore for our college graduation?” he asked.

“On the left with the other summer clothes. But it’s sleeveless, I can’t wear that.”

“You can with this sweater,” he said, fishing them out and tossing them on the bed.

“Oh, that’s actually really cute together.”

“I know. How about that pink dress I like with the little horses on it, the one with the brown leather belt?”

“How do you know my clothes this well? I don’t even remember that dress. It’s in the middle, but it’s totally wrong for work.”

“It’s really not. Here, pair it with this jean jacket at night for going out.” He tossed those items on the bed as well.

“What shoes?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“These ankle boots.” He withdrew the boots from her closet and tossed them beside the bed.

“How are you doing this?” she asked.

“You know art is the thing I’m getting a PhD in, so I spend sort of a lot of time thinking about color and composition. You should also change your hair.”

She made a wounded sound and touched her tresses. “But I’ve had this hairstyle since I was fifteen.”

“As someone who started dating you when you were seventeen, darling, I know,” he said.

He picked out another outfit for her and turned his attention to her jewelry. “Wear the beaded necklace I made for you with this one.”

“I can’t wear the necklace you made for me with another man.”

“Of course you can. I use the wallet you bought me when I’m with other women.”

“Yeah, but you made it,” she said, holding the necklace aloft to admire it.

“The necklace and I both want you to be happy,” he insisted. He took the necklace from her, tossed it onto the pile of clothes, and plopped down beside her on the bed. They linked arms. “What’s he like?”

---