Page 21 of Because I Liked A Boy
Theo answers on the second ring, music and tools clattering behind him. “Maplewood Auto.”
“It’s Isabella. Put Hunter on.”
There’s a pause, then Theo’s low whistle cuts through the line. “Well, fuck. He’s gonna love this.”
A shuffle, and then Hunter’s voice, rough and sharper than usual. “Isabella?”
“Yes.”
The background noise dulls, like he’s already stepped outside. “You actually called me.”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer. Friends, remember? Consider this my thankyou for breakfast. Drinks. Tonight.”
There’s a beat of silence, then his laugh slides warm and smug through the receiver. “Fuck. You just asked me out.”
“It’s not a date, Hayes. Eight o’clock. And bring Theo. Ruby just bought the perfect dress.”
Theo’s voice pipes up in the background, smug as sin. “I fucking knew today was my lucky day.”
Hunter ignores him, voice dipping lower. “So, drinks tonight. You, me, no excuses. Admit it, Princess—you want to spend time with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Friends. That’s all.”
“Friends,” he echoes, like the word tastes different on his tongue.
I hang up before he can push further, my pulse still running hot.
Ruby’s staring at me, stunned for a beat before a wicked grin breaks across her face. “Belle, you just gave Millie Carson the aneurysm she deserves.”
Across the food court, Millie’s glare could strip paint. For once, I don’t look away.
“Good,” I murmur, sliding my phone into my bag. “Let her choke on it.”
Back at my flat, the place looks nothing like the quiet, bare space I moved into six months ago. Ruby’s everywhere—shopping bags dumped across the couch, shoes lined up like weapons, lipstick tubes rolling dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table. She hums off-key as she unzips garment bags like she’s staginga runway show.
“You’ve officially turned my flat into a boutique,” I mutter, wringing water from my hair.
Ruby doesn’t look guilty in the slightest. “Correction. A glow-up factory. Tonight isn’t about survival, Belle. It’s about showing up and owning the room.”
She tosses the white dress onto my bed with a snap of her wrist. “Start with this.”
The fabric slides over my skin, snug around my waist, soft against my shoulders. When I turn toward the mirror, I hesitate. The girl staring back looks different. Sharper. Stronger. Almost like she belongs to herself again.
Ruby’s eyes light up. “Yes. That’s the look. That’s you.”
“It doesn’t feel like me,” I admit, smoothing a hand down the fabric.
Ruby comes up behind me, her chin brushing my shoulder as we both stare into the mirror. “It is you. It’s the you that forgot she was allowed to take up space. The you before everything went to hell.”
Something twists tight in my chest. I’ve spent months folding in smaller, quieter, invisible. But Ruby’s refused to let me disappear. She’s shoved lattes into my hand, dragged me into conversation, made me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how. And now—standing here in this dress, lips painted red the way Ruby insists—I see flickers of the girl I used to be. The Isabella who didn’t apologise for existing. The Isabella who enjoyed her life.
“You know what I see?” Ruby’s voice softens, eyes catching mine in the glass. “A woman who walked into Maplewood with nothing but a suitcase and built herself a life. You’ve got a job, a home, and me—which, let’s face it, is the best deal of all. Tonight isn’t about Millie. Or anyone else. It’s about you.”
My throat tightens. “Ruby—”
She waves me off, grinning. “Don’t start crying and ruin my mascara masterpiece. Just promise me one thing: when we walk into that bar, you’ll let yourself enjoy it. No hiding. No shrinking. Just you.”
I laugh, shaky but real. “You’re ridiculous.”
