Page 93 of This Time Around
Allie snort-laughed in a most unladylike fashion, causing Éléonore to swing her gaze back to her.
“Will you be joining us in the dressing room for the fitting?” Éléonore asked.
“Oh, um—I guess that’s up to Paige.”
“Yes,” Paige said, reaching out for Allie’s hand. “She’ll be joining us.”
“I see,” Éléonore said. “You do understand that bra fitting is an art and not a science?”
“I like art and science both,” Paige replied. “But writing is my best subject.”
“Just like your dad,” Allie said, squeezing the girl’s hand at the memory of Jack, bleary-eyed and rumpled, as he slaved over essays for college scholarships. “He used to love writing essays in high school. Everyone else hated them, but your dad?—”
“And how does your mother feel about things like padding, push-up, and underwire?”
Allie blinked and glanced at Paige. Paige looked back at her, seemingly at a loss for words for the first time since Allie met her. The girl gave a tiny shrug, so Allie looked back at Éléonore. “My mother is in prison, but she strongly favors all of those things,” she replied.
“And my mother is dead,” Paige supplied. “So I don’t think she cares.”
Allie squeezed the girl’s hand and leveled a look at Éléonore. “Why don’t we just go with whatever Paige would like to have on her body?”
Éléonore looked alarmed for a moment. Then she sniffed and spun on her heel. As she marched toward the dressing room, Allie leaned down to whisper to Paige. “Are you okay? We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”
“I’m fine,” Paige answered. “I want a bra.”
“I know, but that woman?—”
“Éléonore?” The girl pronounced the name with a dramatic flair, rolling her eyes as she said it.
“Éléonore,” Allie repeated as the woman turned the corner into the dressing rooms. “She’s a little intense.”
“I can handle intense.”
“I can see that,” Allie said, more impressed with this kid than she’d been with anyone she’d ever met.
Paige glanced toward the dressing rooms, then back at Allie. “What’s a brassiere?” she whispered.
“It’s a bra for snobby people.”
“Can we tell her I just want a regular bra?”
“Definitely.” Allie put her arm around the girl as they started toward the dressing room. “And for the record, I don’t think you need padding or push-up or any of that stuff.”
“Okay. But maybe not just plain? Maybe one with stripes or lace or something.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged. Only instead of stripes, we’ll have to call them rayures. And instead of lace, we have to say dentelle.”
“Dentelle,” Paige repeated, trying it out. She reached up and plugged her nose, then tried again. “Dentelle,” she tried again, sounding a lot more authentic than Allie had after four years of college French.
“Perfect,” Allie said, and guided her young charge toward the dressing room.
Chapter 14
Jack felt his pulse kick up at the sound of familiar female voices outside the front door. Even though he’d seen Allie two hours ago, even though she’d texted to say they’d finished shopping, something inside him stirred with excitement at the thought of seeing her again.
Was it really just a few weeks ago that he’d sent that first email and spent days filled with a different sort of anxiousness? The urge to show her up, to rub her nose in how well he’d turned out.
Now he just wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her and?—
