Page 31 of Story Of My Heart

As I glance around, I realize that stepping into Frocks with Faith is like walking into a pastel dream, where each garment promises a blend of style and modesty. The shop is a cozy tapestry of vintage chic and modern flair, with walls adorned in soft, creamy hues and wooden floors that creak gently underfoot. Delicate lace dresses and floral prints mingle with bold geometric patterns, all neatly displayed on ornate wrought iron racks that line the room. A small chandelier casts a warm, inviting glow over a display of handcrafted jewelry and accessories, while the scent of lavender and vanilla wafts from a diffuser, adding a tranquil ambiance. At the far corner, a plush velvet settee offers a spot for contemplation or weary shoppers, surrounded by framed photos of local fashion icons of yesteryears, each telling a story of elegance and grace.

Faith watches with an amused grin as Fallon shoves dresses into my arms faster than I can examine them, before turning me around and pushing me toward a dressing room behind a thick canvas curtain with such force that I nearly stumble right in. I can see where Tate gets his fixation during a project. It must be something in the gene pool.

The first dress is a misfire. It fits, but it definitely isn’t me. Sitting just above my knees, with a babydoll cut, puffy sleeves, and the heaviest white knock-off satin I’ve ever felt in my life, it looks like I’ve stolen my baby cousin’s confirmation dress. Then there’s a violently pink number with a peplum so wide I feel like I’m nothing but a pair of hips. I’m about to cry with laughter at the next dress, a rectangular shift dress that stops just below my ass, and has a bow the size of a small child across the chest. As I’m trying to unzip myself from what I can only describe as a bridesmaids dress for a circus clown or haunted Victorian doll, I get distracted by Faith and Fallon’s conversation a few feet from the curtain between us.

“Girl, you need to loosen up a little,” Fallon teases between the scraping sounds of hanger hooks sliding across metal display rods.

“I’m loose,” Faith insists. “I’m loose while still trying to avoid eternal damnation.”

So my instincts about the loafers and white cardigan combo were correct. Someone’s Sundays are booked for the rest of her natural life. I don’t think she’d be too keen on the next dress Fallon’s chosen for me. It’s gorgeous, but I’m terrified that if I sneeze or breathe wrong one of my generous boobs is going to make a grand and public escape from the flimsy red lace.

“Yeah. Being the reverend’s daughter is the exact opposite of loose,” Fallon replies. “And if you’re worried about going to hell, don’t. All the cool kids will be there. I’ll save you a seat.”

I stifle a giggle in the dressing room, trying not to mortify poor Faith any further than Fallon already has. Turning to look at my reflection in the mirror, I wince before opening my eyes, bracing myself for this next dress to be as much of a failure as the others have been. Instead, I’m greeted by something that could have been tailor made for me. It isn’t real silk, and doesn’t carry a real silk price tag, but is close enough that it could have fooled me. The microprint floral fabric flows down to my calves, nipping in tight at the waist and turning romantic and drapey as it extends. The sweetheart neckline and halter straps give it a feminine, retro feel that highlight my decolletage without feeling vampy or like I’m taking too much attention away from the bride to be.

It’s absolutely perfect.

I do a satisfied spin in the mirror, smiling like a goon, before peeling it over my head and changing back into my clothes. The Cinderella analogy comes back to haunt me, and looking at my reflection in the orange sweatshirt and brown shorts I wore over here, I feel more than a bit like I’ve been turned from a princess back into a pumpkin. I try to shrug it off, straightening my shoulders and stepping out from behind the curtain with my armful of rejected frocks and single success.

Faith tries not to look at me, knowing that I must’ve heard her conversation with Fallon. Fallon ignores her discomfort, paying for my dress alongside the blue sweater she had been eyeing so intently out on the sidewalk. “See you at the chocolate making?”

“No,” Faith sighs, shaking her head. “Much like life, I wasn’t matched.”

Fallon turns to look back at me with a grimace, before smiling back at Faith. “How about tonight then?”

“I’ll be there. I’ve seen the way they look at each other,” Faith smiles wistfully, pausing with her hands on the bag as she loses herself in thought, a slight blush creeping across her cheeks. “I bet they can’t wait for their wedding night.”

“For what?” Fallon snorts, taking the bag from Faith’s hands. “You don’t actually think they’re waiting, do you? Everyone who reads Sunset Fake pretty much knows they’re already consummated.”

This Sunset Fake person really has this entire town in a death grip. I can’t imagine someone expending this much time and energy to harass the residents of a town with a population smaller than my college campus. Faith looks away in embarrassment, her lips growing taught. Fallon reaches across the counter, squeezing her hand gently.

“Girl, we have got to get you out of Daddy’s house. There’s nothing wrong with people pleasuring each other. God, wouldn’t have given us all genitals if he didn’t want us to use them for more than procreation.”

Fallon turns and leaves before Faith can start quoting scripture, and I follow her out of the store and back out to the car, trying not to laugh.

“She went so pale, I thought she was going to pass out.” I check myself out in the car window, examining my hair for split ends and noting that I’ve let the texture get a lot drier than I’d like it to be. Maybe I should finally get one of those silk pillowcases I keep seeing advertised. Regardless, Fallon’s already informed me that the next item on our agenda is to get ‘something done about that mess on my head.’ Her words, not mine.

“It’s good for her. I’m trying to normalize sex between two loving beings. She’s wound so tight, she could be married and still die a virgin. When they start talking about those old wives’ tales where a woman’s vagina gets sealed shut from lack of use, there will be Faith’s picture.”

While I can’t imagine carrying that amount of stress around with me at all times, I can also step back and admire her restraint. If I had that kind of self-discipline, I wouldn’t have slipped between the sheets with Tate again, and I wouldn’t be so worried about how things will be when we leave this town. In the meantime, I guess the only thing left for me to do is lean into the vacation lifestyle, and look as good as I possibly can for this party tonight. Though who I’m trying so hard to look good for is a mystery to me.

Chapter Seventeen

Tate

I’m beginning to wonder if Captain Obvious is big enough to eat. And if he’d taste like chicken. But then I sigh and shake my head. There isn’t a lot of meat on his bones, and I can’t help but think that plucking all of those feathers would be more effort than it’s worth. To cap it all off, Dad would be heartbroken if anything happened to him. So I guess an ortolan-style dinner isn’t an option. I could stage a breakout, leave the cage door bent and dangling as if he undid it from the inside, but I can imagine the look in his eyes when he hears that his favorite little nuisance is no longer with us. It’s a lot easier for him to love the bird from afar. He doesn’t have to hear all of his jabs and barbs being whistled all day long. Ledger made one offhand remark about my possibly developing a bald spot at the top of my head, just to screw with me, and it’s all the winged asshole has chittered about for the last few hours.

I took another desk shift to give Ledger a few more hours of relaxation while I’m in town. The frown lines around the corner of his mouth are getting so deep that he’s starting to look like Dad. Half bulldog, half shar-pei. I wasn’t being totally altruistic, either. I hoped that I could catch him for a few minutes before he jogged off to wherever it is that he’s been sneaking off to and continue our conversation from the other night, maybe pick up a few more tips. Not something I ever saw happening in a million years, picking up bedroom maneuvers from my brother. But if the shoe fits…

Instead, he jogged off right when I got there. Some kind of disaster with a water heater that Hank wanted him to glance at before skipping out for the rest of the afternoon to get ready for the party. This left me with a very slow afternoon crowd, that ridiculous bird, and my thoughts, most of which are starring Piper. What she picked out at the boutique today? Will her hair be pulled up or falling down? Will she let me hold her too close when we dance? Will she let me peel her new dress off her when we get back to the cabin?

Fallon and Ledger are naturally going to be at the party tonight, so I’m relieved by a young kid from town I don’t recognize, who swears to me that not only is he old enough to work, can see over the top of the desk, and has worked here for months, but that he is also old enough to drive here and own a car. It’s making me feel ancient by comparison, and Ledger and Captain Obvious’s quips about my hairline are hitting me particularly hard. By the time I start to shuffle my way back to the cabin to switch into my blazer and run a comb through my hair, I’ve forgotten all about Piper and Fallon’s transformative afternoon journey into town.

The sight that greets me when I open the cabin door hits me like a ton of bricks. I linger in the doorway for far longer than is normal, staring with my mouth dangling halfway open like a child watching a magic trick.

The blood leaves my veins.

The breath leaves my body.

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