Page 14 of Of Heather and Thistle
Heather’s gaze darted wide-eyed between them as Ivy started laughing. “Marky’s right. You’re a Disney princess now, and tonight is your ball. Don’t mess it up.” Heather wanted to argue, but then Ivy’s infectious excitement started to chip away at her nerves. Maybe this actually was a chance to feel good about herself and about life in general so that she could forget, even for one night, about all the chaos swirling around her.
Heather glanced at Mark, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Yeah, Sam isn’t just walking into the bookstore and asking random people out. He picked you, Heather. Own it.”
Heather felt overwhelmed, but then Ivy squeezed her shoulders and repeated, “Own it,” with a grin so earnest that Heather couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement.
“Fine,” she huffed. “But if you come near me with false lashes or glitter, I’m out.”
“Deal,” Ivy said, clapping her hands. “Now, Marky, makesure she doesn’t chicken out before her shift ends.”
“On it!” he agreed, mock-saluting as Ivy disappeared into the romance section, muttering plans for Heather’s transformation under her breath. As Heather returned to work, she couldn’t stop the mix of anxiety and warmth bubbling inside her. She wasn’t sure how the date with Sam would go, but with Ivy and Mark in her corner, what could go wrong?
* * *
Heather found herself standing in Ivy’s tiny, impossibly chic apartment that evening, surrounded by an intimidating array of makeup palettes, curling irons, and racks of clothes that Ivy had hauled out just for the occasion. The makeover mission had commenced.
Ivy, with her energy at an all-time high, whirled around like a general preparing for battle.
“Okay, Heather, tonight we’re going for jaw-dropping. I don’t want Sam Ashford just to notice you—I want him to forget his own name.”
Heather winced, perched on the edge of Ivy’s vanity chair.
“Can’t we aim for something more… subtle? Like… ‘pleasantly surprised’ instead of ‘speechless from shock’?”
“Nope!” Ivy grinned, her hands on her hips like this was a matter of national importance. “Tonight, subtlety is canceled. Besides, when have I ever steered you wrong?”
Mark, who was lounging on Ivy’s plush white couch with a Diet Coke and a smirk, chimed in: “You did give her bangs that one time.”
Ivy shot him a withering look. “That was an experiment,Mark, and sometimes experiments go wrong. Tonight, however, I am fully in control of my craft.”
Heather groaned, already regretting agreeing to this. “This feels like overkill for a casual date.”
“Casual date?” Ivy gasped, offended. “Heather, this is Sam-freaking-Ashford. His parents own like half the town. He doesn’t do casual, and neither will you.”
She whipped out a black garment bag from her closet, holding it up with a flourish. “Behold, your secret weapon.”
Heather eyed it warily. “It’s a dress, not a weapon.”
“You’re wrong—it’s both,” Ivy countered, unzipping the bag to reveal a rich, scarlet satin dress. The fabric draped like liquid, smooth and impossibly soft, the cowl neckline dipping just enough to tease without being too much. The fitted silhouette would hug her curves, stopping just at the knee. It was sleek, and sultry, but undeniably classy. Under the apartment light, the deep red gleamed like a glass of expensive wine. Bold. Unapologetic.
Heather swallowed. “That’s… a lot of dress.”
Ivy smirked. “No, darling. That’sthedress.”
Heather hesitated. “I don’t know, Ivy. I don’t think—”
“—Exactly,” Ivy cut in smoothly. “You think too much. That’s the problem. Just trust me for once, okay? This will knock his socks off. And his shirt.” She raised her eyebrows. “…Maybe more.”
Mark nearly spit out his drink. “Geez, Ivy! Let the poor girl breathe.”
“Breathe later, seduce now,” Ivy retorted.
Heather stared at the dress like it might bite her. “I’m going to look ridiculous.”
Mark, still lounging on the couch, must have noticed herhesitation because his expression softened. “Hey,” he said, giving her an easy grin. “It’s just a dress. If you hate it, you can change. No pressure.”
Heather exhaled, shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks, Marky.”
Ivy groaned. “Mark! Stop coddling her!”
