Page 21 of Finally Moore

“Don’t forget—”

“Two candy canes.” Hannah sighs. “Scarlett, I got this.”

I know she does. I mean, she started as a housekeeper when my grandpa was still around, then worked her way up to night manager. Sometimes I struggle to let go, though. It’s just easier to do everything myself than to rely on others. Not that Hannah’s ever let me down. Unfortunately, it’s just a side effect of my youth.

“I know. I’m sorry,” I tell her.

“Don’t apologize. I get it. But you have bigger things to worry about, like showing up to this dinner looking hot as fuck and giving that asshole a glimpse of exactly what he’s missing.”

I turn and look at my profile in the mirror. I suck in my gut, making my stomach flatter, to more closely resemble the beach body I used to have. When I exhale again, that illusion is shattered. “He’s not missing much.”

“Shut up,” she scolds. “You’re gorgeous. Now, did you decide what you’re wearing?”

“Um…” I glance at what amounts to about half my closet lying across my bed. “I think my cashmere sweater with—”

“No,” Hannah cuts me off.

I pick up the sweater in question and run my fingers across the material. “But it’s soft and very—”

“No,” she repeats. “Sweaters say I’m single and enjoy getting cozy with a blanket by the fire and masturbating to my favorite book. Oh, what about that strappy red dress?”

“Yeah, no. I’m not wearing that. For one, it’s freezing out. And two, I bought it online when I was two bottles of wine deep and thought I could conquer the world. It’s winter. The sweater is practical, and I can pair it with my skinny jeans and boots.”

“You’re a Minnesotan now. We don’t let winter prevent us from showing the goods. Red dress, black tights, and your knee-high boots because they’re fucking killer.”

“Hannah…”

“Scarlett,” she says in a mocking tone. “Trust me. You’re a bombshell and that look will knock 'em dead. Especially Scott.”

“Shit…”

“What?”

“I might have forgotten to invite Scott.” I wince and wait for the reprimand I know is coming.

“You forgot to invite your fiancé to your big, fancy family dinner in the cities?”

“In my defense, he’s not actually my fiancé.” I reach for the outfit she suggested, hoping it’ll distract her from the Scott issue. “It’s fine. I’ll just tell mom he had to work. I mean, it’s not like it’s a lie.”

“I guess, but you’re kind of making him look like an ass. His fiancée’s mother is in town, and he can’t spare a few hours to have dinner with her? Make a good impression and woo her like he did her daughter?”

“Fake,” I remind her. “Besides, it’s one dinner. I’ll make sure to include him for the rest.” I glance down at my legs that are far pastno-shaveNovember. “I’m wearing tights. Do you think I should—”

“Yes, for Christ’s sake, woman, shave them. Last thing you want is to be halfway to Pound Town with Mr. Coffee, only to be forced to pause before he realizes the hedges haven’t been trimmed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“If you have to ask, yes, it is.”

“I knew I should’ve had them wax my legs when the girl was doing my Brazilian.”

“Who gets their hoo-ha waxed and leaves their legs covered in fur?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry but my legs are one thing, especially since I’ve been waxing them so long the hair hardly grows anymore. But freezing tundra or not, I enjoy keeping things pristine in the vag area. Even if no one ever visits.”

“Amen, sister! It’s nice to hear you’re more open to the idea of clearing out the cobwebs than I first thought.”

“Well…” I turn on the bathroom sink, then gather up my razor and shaving cream. “If—and that’s a strongif—Scott makes a move, I won’t turn him down. I mean, he’s doing me a huge favor, so it’s the least I can do.”

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