I didn’t want to admit it, but it really was the best massage I’d ever had. For the first time since 2 weeks ago, on that early June summer day when I’d arrived, my shoulders were untensed and slouching, and even in my heels, I was relaxed.

“How was it, Haven?” Sally and Sierra looked drunk, either on the champagne the spa gave, or the freedom of our staycation. 

I shrug nonchalantly, remaining apathetic to them. “It was about what I expected.” Oh, it wasn’t. It was way better.

Suddenly, Sally regained composure. “This is it!” She points to a small store. 

“Betty’s Boutique?” I read aloud, processing. “…this place doesn’t seem too… legit.” 

“Legit?”

“Like what clothing brand is it? Hollister? Brandy? Urban Outfitters? There at least has to be an Anthropologie around here, right?” What am I going to wear for the rest of the summer?!

“Ah, the trendy, popular, overpriced fashion places? Babes, to find those, you’d have to drive to Chandler, Scottsdale, and Mesa.” Sally smiled.

“And how far are those cities?”

The girls only laughed in response and pulled me through a simple little shop, think gas station size, with some simple pieces of clothing. Some did catch my eye, but the store reminded me of a small business you’d stop by while taking a vacation. But my stay in Arizona was not that simple. Nothing was ever simple anymore.

Before I knew it, I was dragged into a mediocre dressing room with several dresses. I hated this feeling of being out of control, but there was nothing I could be able to do about it, unless I wanted a quiet ride home.

We went through so many dresses. A ruby red dress with the biggest flare sleeves that I couldn’t get because it ‘clashed too much with my skin tone,’ a yellow dress that looked too ‘prom-like for a barn dance,’ and even an orange jumpsuit with floral patterns. It felt like they wrapped tape around me from my bust to my thighs. No, better yet, it felt like I was wearing a straw. 

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Sierra screamed, twirling me around so much I fell off balance, tensing as she held my hands.

“Oh, you can’t wear that!” Sally shook her head. I breathed a sigh of relief but played along with her fantasy.

“Why?”

She giggled like a 12-year-old girl, and Sierra cleared her throat and sang, “You’d attract all the bo-oys!!” 

“We’re not going to find a dress,” I mumble, trying to cover up my obvious blush. “I have plenty. Come on, this was a waste.”

Sally frowned. “Let’s try one more.”

It was absolutely not me. The design was so country I felt like Clara, and you'd better realize how mortifying that is to me. I stepped out of the dressing room, tugging at the corset top like it might loosen if I glared at it long enough. The dark green fabric hugged closer than anything I’d worn in years, dipping into a neckline I usually avoided. My legs felt bare, my arms stiff, like I was stepping out onto a stage instead of a boutique hallway. And yet, I loved the dress so much I felt like grinning.

Sierra gasped so loud half the store probably turned. “Haven! Oh my God—no, don’t even look in the mirror. You’ll ruin it by doubting yourself. That is it.”

Sally put a hand on her hip, grinning like she’d just won a prize. “See? Told you jewel tones would be spectacular. That green’s got Weston’s name written all over it.”

I whipped around, cheeks already burning. “Didn’t we agree that this wouldn’t be a setup? Besides, I–”

That’s when Noah, dressed in a nice yellow button-up and tan pants, seemed already dressed up for the dance. God, what time is it? It can’t possibly be time for the barn dance.

“If you show up to the dress in that, we'd better hope Weston at least brushed his hair.” Noah snickered. Apparently, the whole town was in on this matchmaking game. “You look good, Haven.” He winked at me, pulling out his phone.

I glared at my reflection, half-hoping it would swallow me whole. This wasn’t about Weston. It wasn’t about anyone—only Bug. I was wearing the dress because Sierra shoved me into it, because Sally wouldn’t let me leave otherwise, because people wouldn’t take me seriously about Bug, because I didn’t have the energy to fight. That was all.

And yet…

My fingers trailed the dark green fabric again, tracing the line of the corset seam, the way it cinched around my waist. It was ridiculous, over-the-top, not me at all—except I couldn’t help it. For the first time in forever, I actually felt… pretty.

Which was dangerous. Because if Weston did look at me, really look at me… I wasn’t sure what would be worse.

Him not caring at all.

Or him caring too much.

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