Page 76 of About Last Christmas
“Nice.” Leo grins. “I can complement you in this.” He raises a neon pink button-down shirt.
“Gah! My eyes!” I hold up my arms, fingers splayed, as if Leo’s aiming a high-intensity searchlight at me. “That isnotformalwear. It’s hideous.”
He appraises it again. “It might not be pretty, but it has an amazing personality.”
I laugh. “They take this SugarFest theme a bit too far.” I hold up a gown labeled “Cotton Candy Chic,” but nothing about this dress is posh. It’s blue, pink, and lavender tulle thrown together with a sequined bodice. If I wear this, I’ll rival a giant puff ball and get caught on everything.
“Yeah, but you can’t find this just anywhere.” He holds up a deep red, crushed velvet—imitation, mind you—dinner jacket with jeweled buttons resembling gumdrops.
I lean back with a hand to my chin and study the jacket as if I have my own fashion reality TV show. “All you need to complete the look is a top hat, and you’ll be the next Willy Wonka.”
He points to a shelf beside me that has, indeed, a top hat.
I gasp at the insanity of it all, but that doesn’t stop me from snatching the hat and holding it out to him. “I dare you.”
“Want to make it a true dare?” He asks this in a tone that makes me think of a heated kiss by a Christmas tree.
“It depends on the terms.”
“We pick each other’s outfits.”
A laugh bursts from my lips. Okay, not expecting that. “You’re willing to take that risk? It could be dangerous with my creativity levels.” I return the hat to the shelf but give a pointed nod at a bright orange suit coat that can moonlight as a creamsicle.
“I told you I like your kind of danger.”
He said that the day we met. My chest squeezes, but I’m never one to turn down a challenge. “Okay, Mathis. You’re on.” I tell him my size, and we go to work outfitting each other. I’ve never dressed a full-grown man before. Well, not entirely true. I’ve sometimes set out Pap’s clothes for doctor appointment days to ensure he matches, but I’m much more invested in this dare than I ever was in grabbing an argyle sweater from Pap’scloset. After a while, I stumble upon the perfect jacket and trousers for Leo. They’re not the highest quality, but they’re the best I can find. I discreetly make the purchase, and the cashier covers everything with a dark blue garment bag.
“Meet you back in the room,” I call saucily to Leo but don’t realize how I sound until the cashier lady snickers. I was referring to the dare and how I finished shopping first, but, of course, she knows we have the honeymoon suite. And now I’m running into a mannequin wearing a peppermint swirl bikini. Nothing crashes, except my dignity. I scuttle out of the shop, Leo’s deep chuckle following me.
I zip up the side of the dress and study my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Leo picked out the “Sugar Plum Princess,” and I actually love it. The gown’s a deep purple, bodycon maxi with crystal beadwork mimicking sugar-frosted glass. Since the fabric is a polyester and spandex blend, the dress hugs my curves but has some stretch. I sported a braid all day, so my hair has a wave to it. I swipe lip gloss over my mouth and now … this feels very date-y. Before, we had our little bargain as a buffer. Even when Leo invited me to his house, it wasn’t an official date, but to review the Silver Creek Secret Santa letters. Tonight, that folder is in the car, and the Vallerton is gone. Our agreement’s on hold.
I promised earlier to discuss the kiss, but my brain can’t focus on anything except the clump of mascara on the edge of my right lashes or how I wish I had better deodorant than the reserve one from my purse. I adjust my bra straps, so they’ll stay in place, then wet a wad of toilet paper and wipe the mud from my black heels, smearing white nubs all over them instead.I spend the next five minutes controlling my breathing while picking soggy paper from my shoes.
Leo and I are just grabbing dinner downstairs because room service is a no-go. That’s all.
After one more calming inhale, I open the door and step into the room.
Leo’s gaze sweeps over me. “I’m calling it. I won.” He seems to consider his words as he lounges on a marshmallow-shaped bean bag. “Or maybe you won. I don’t even care. All I know is that you look amazing and that slit will torment me all night.”
While I was getting ready, it was like open mic night in my brain, with all my insecurities elbowing for center stage. My physical defects on full display, like how my right front tooth is slightly more forward than my left front or the small scar near my hairline from when I smacked my head off the monkey bars in elementary recess. How, when I get chilled, my skin turns freakishly translucent, and the blue vein lines and goosebumps make my arms look like raw chicken meat. Because of this, I nearly struggle to believe Leo’s sweet words if not for the arrested expression on his face.
Too bad I can’t switch off my screaming insecurities. “Really?” I hate the wobble in my voice.
He misses nothing and approaches me like a man on a mission. “Yeah, really.” He catches both of my hands in his. “You know why I picked this dress?”
“Because it came with a pack of Nerds?”
His smile is the stuff of poems. “No, it reminded me of your dress at the firefighters’ gala. I nearly choked when I saw you from across the room.”
“That’s because you weren’t expecting me.”
“It was more than that.” Hunger flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that now I’m wondering if I imagined it. “You’rebeautiful, Greta. And if you’re doubting yourself, I’m not doing a good job as your hype guy.”
Oh great. Now he feels forced to give me compliments. “You don’t have to be.”
“Ah, but I want to.” His thumb slides over my knuckles, slow and rhythmic. “You’re the only one on Earth that I will wear purple pants for.”
My laugh is small because my heart’s doing some big things right now. Like writing Leo’s name all over it in permanent marker. “I wouldn’t call them purple. More like lavender.”
