Page 42 of Crushing Clover

“And that’s a good thing?”

“We need to get Saint on board.”

I pulled out a pink velour sweatsuit and looked at it in distaste. It was a lot of pink, which clashed with my hair.

Lucky took the hanger out of my hand and put the outfit back on the rack. “No. Hard limit. You’re not going to dress like my mom’s favorite Spice Girl.”

“What’s a Spice Girl?”

“Come on, everyone knows who they are.”

I bit my lips together, trying not to laugh. “I’ve never heard of them.”

He started naming songs as I browsed through the clothing. There was a section of cute cotton sundresses he seemed to like. I kept acting clueless about The Spice Girls as he piled dresses into my arms.

“Come on, you have to know at least one of those songs.”

“Maybe if you sing one, I’ll recognize it.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, suddenly realizing what I was doing. “As soon as we get home, you’re in trouble.”

I pretended not to hear him. “I bet it’ll help if you do the choreography, too.”

“For your safety and the safety of everyone around us, make sure you never tease Saint like this.”

I grimaced at the sweater I was looking at, not sure if I disliked it, or disliked who we were talking about.

When our arms were completely laden with clothes, the teenage saleswoman who had been fluttering around us, led us to the change rooms at the back. I felt bad for her, knowing she’d have to hang up anything he didn’t buy.

A shopping spree for a new wardrobe could have been fun, but instead, I found myself trying to guess what Saint John and Rush would like. Needing advice, I tried on the first dress and smoothed the clinging fabric over my hips.

I walked out of the change room, expecting to have to track Lucky down, but he was waiting right outside the door. For a moment, I felt a glow of pleasure that he’d waited and hadn’t wandered off, but then reality kicked in. As much as he hated shopping, he still needed to keep an eye on me.

Lucky whistled long and low, his gaze appreciative.

“Why do I get the feeling you’d do the same if I was wearing that pink tracksuit?”

“Probably. My eyes missed you.”

His eyes missed me?

I laughed, again getting that feeling that I was on a date with a cute boy, and that we were both younger and more innocent than we were. If Saint John heard us talking, he’d probably throw up on the nearest mannequin.

“Is this how she dresses?” I asked.

He was confused for a moment, then shrugged. “I haven’t seen her in over two years. I have no idea what she wears now.”

“Is what Saint John said true? Would you take her back immediately, no matter what?”

“Who knows? There’s a lot of water under the bridge, but a lot of old memories, too. We went through a lot together.”

“How long were you four an item?”

“Part of culinary school.”

Longingly, I thought of post-secondary. I’d had the marks to go, but they hadn’t been high enough to get me a free ride. It had been difficult to study, work, and get all my chores done at my last group home.

I went back into the change room and put on a dress that had floating layers. The bodice was held together by three strings in the back, leaving the rest of my back bare.

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