Page 43 of Rejected Plus-Size Mate

We head out and visit the Museum of Mountain West, as well as the surrounding lookouts. Leslie decides she wants to meet an alpaca, so we go out to the nearby ranch.

To her delight, we are allowed to pet the fuzzy creatures and give them snacks. Even though they can be flighty and often nervous, Leslie charms them all, giving them scratches and kisses. We learn about their wool, and Leslie buys us sweaters from the shop.

Back in the center of town, Leslie decides to check out a couple of clothing stores.

“I feel bad,” she says, giggling. “I wanted this day to be all about you. I don’t want you to get bored looking at women’s clothes.”

“If they’re going to be on you, I think it sounds like a very good time,” I answer, grabbing her waist and tickling her a bit.

“I mean it,” she giggles. “I wanted to get you out of Silver Meadows for the day so you could forget about all the pack stress and… get your mind off other stuff.”

I smile down at her, brushing her thick, honey-colored curls away from her cheek. “I’m having a wonderful time with you,” I say softly. “If you want to look at dresses, by all means, let’s go!”

She shrugs, her smile a little shy. “Okay. If you don’t mind. They have much nicer shops here, so I’d really like to take a look.”

“Does it give you ideas for your own designs?” I ask. She was interested in the alpaca wool for the same reason.

“It does,” she answers. “But I like to see what private boutiques have because it’s really unique. We have nothing like it in Silverton or anywhere around there.”

I happily oblige when Leslie chooses a boutique, following her inside. She wanders through the store, admiring colors and designs and slowly acquiring a massive stack of clothes that I gallantly offer to carry. When she goes into the dressing room, her eyes are bright with excitement, and she’s smiling with the anticipation of a kid on Christmas morning.

I sit and wait by the mirrors in the little line of chairs that can only exist for the use of patiently waiting husbands. I can’t imagine being the type of guy who would get bored or pissed off in a situation like this.

I can’t wait to see my babe in those awesome clothes, and she’s so happy! I’ll sit here all day if she wants me to.

When Leslie comes out of the dressing room, she gives me a shy smile as she pushes the curtain aside. She’s wearing a wine-red dress that wraps around her waist and sweeps in folds right down to her ankles. I let out a low whistle.

“That’s so hot!”

“Really?” she asks, and I nod emphatically. She trots over to the mirror and does a twirl. I see her face crumple a little. Since I know nothing about fashion, I keep my mouth shut.

She hurries back to the dressing room and comes back out in a long black skirt and deep green top. The green blouse ties up across her beautiful big breasts and has a line of laces across her soft tummy. The long edges fall against her wide hips, covering the top of the black skirt.

Leslie doesn’t look at me, just hurries to the mirror. She pulls the face again.

“That one looks great, babe,” I say.

She shakes her head slightly and dashes back to the dressing room. I hear her throwing things around and cursing softly. Then she comes out in a beautiful black and gray dress.

It has a high neck and long sleeves, a tight waist, and very long, flowing skirts. The black and gray patterns across her chest in spirals of color, forming a little filigree on the top near her left shoulder. I’m absolutely struck by how lovely she looks.

I watch her staring into the mirror, her beautiful gray eyes lit up by the identical shades in the dress. Her honey-colored hair falls around her shoulders in soft waves, the brightness contrasted by the monochrome of the fabric.

Leslie makes a small sound like a sob and bolts back to the dressing room.

What the holy fuck is going on?

I get up and hurry over to the curtain, knocking softly on the wall. “Babe, are you okay?”

She makes an unintelligible snuffling sound, and it alarms me greatly because I’m pretty sure she’s crying.

“Leslie, what’s going on?”

“Nothing! I—I don’t want to do this anymore!”

“I’m coming in,” I say firmly, slipping inside the curtain.

She’s standing by the wall, her face in her hands, crying softly. She shakes her head a little. “Go away. I don’t want to talk.”

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