Page 27 of An American in London

“I’ve only ever had a personal plan—at least, I did back in the day. As a teenager.” I think back to my vision board. “But it wasn’t even a plan, really. More like ... I had a vision of how I wanted my life to be.”

“How did that work out?”

“Not well.” I step out of the changing room. “The skirt lifts when I twirl,” I inform him, like I’m selling him a car and I want him to know about the built-in safety features.

“Do you twirl a lot?” he asks, looking thoroughly confused.

I pull in a breath and lift my arms to the sky to check it’s not too short. “Not as a general rule.”

“Good,” he says. “I think it’s acceptable, so we’ll take it. What’s next?”

“Acceptable?” I ask. “Gee, you really know how to make a girl feel good.”

He blinks, holding my gaze. I’m not sure what he’s thinking until he announces, “It’s a nine out of ten. Next.”

I flit back into the changing room before the heat in my cheeks turns my face the same color as my dress. I want to ask him more about the score. What makes it a nine? Is me in the dress a nine, or does the dress meet some kind of suitability criteria he has in his five-year plan? I hunt through the different garments for the next outfit.

“What would a person even put in their personal life plan?” he asks out of nowhere, like he’s been mulling over the idea of my vision board and suddenly wants details.

“I had a lot of pictures of Daniel De Luca on mine.”

“The film star? How old are you?”

“Iwasfourteen. What images would fourteen-year-old you have in your personal life plan? A copy ofForbesand a tie?” I laugh as I imagine Ben at fourteen, super serious, wearing a suit to play basketball and asking girls about their favorite element on the periodic table.

“Strawberry shortcake,” he answers.

“Is that a cartoon character?” I ask. “Or a porn star?”

“A pudding.” His tone is wistful, as if he’s remembering something important.

I internally decode “pudding” to “dessert” for my American brain. It seems too unbusinesslike to be on Ben’s vision board, even when Ben was fourteen.

“You have a sweet tooth, huh?” I pull out a black dress from under the other hangers and compare it with a green one hanging next to it. I absolutely hate wearing green. For some reason it always makes me feel like a frumpy aunt who may or may not have psychic abilities. I’m not sure whether to get it out of the way and try it first or try the black and hope he likes it so we don’t need to look at the green one. “Do you come to New York much?” I ask. I tug the green one off the hanger. This is on Ben’s dollar. He should see all the dresses. “You should try Serendipity 3 next time you’re in town. Best desserts in the city. I used to take Jed on his birthday.”

He pauses. “Jed?”

I step out of the changing room and put my hands on my hips. “What do you think?”

He glances down my body and then back up to my face. He holds my gaze for a beat, then two. “Clearly you don’t like it, so it’s a no.”

Heat balls in my chest. I hope I didn’t offend him. “It’s fine if you like it,” I say.

“Try the black one and tell me about Jed.”

I disappear behind the curtain, a combination of embarrassment and thrill mixing in my veins. Part of me feels bad that I didn’t like the green dress. It’s not me paying, after all, and I’m in Ralph Lauren. Nothing’s so bad I couldn’t make it through an evening wearing it.But another part of me is kinda excited that Ben took my feelings into account. He was nice when he didn’t need to be, and he paid attention to my unspoken feelings, which he also didn’t need to do. What does it say about my relationship with Jed that Ben’s attention and thoughtfulness feel like a novelty?

I tuck the thought and the green dress away, content to hide them both from sight. “What do you want to know?” I call.

“Is he a recent ex?” he asks.

“Define recent?” I ask. But before he responds, I reply, “He called it off a couple of weeks back. Decided he wanted to move to Iowa with a ballerina.” I still don’t understand how I didn’t see any signs. I shake my head and busy myself stepping into the black dress. It looked weird on the hanger, probably because it’s one-shouldered.

Once I’ve actually managed to get it on, I feel sexy for the first time since Jed dumped me. It hits just above the knee, and the fabric has a subtle sheen. I absolutely love it.

I slip out of the changing room, and Ben looks up from his phone. His gaze wanders down my body like a downhill skier enjoying the sun.

He looks up, and his softened expression makes my heartbeat stumble. “Jed was an idiot.”

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