Page 8 of Perfect Enough

“She called to tell me she signed you up on a dating app and needed me to answer your questions,” she said really fast.

My mouth fell open. “She did what?!”

“I know! I told her no way was I doing it, especially since you were still so freshly wounded from Drake.”

Dropping back into my chair, I stared at my best friend of nearly twenty-one years. “Freshly wounded?”

Chloe nodded. “I mean…look at you,” she said, as she swept her hand around in a circle in my general direction. “You look like something the cat fought with and wonbeforehe dragged it in.”

I wasn’t sure how much more my bruised ego could take, so I held up my hand and said, “Stop.”

Her mouth quickly pressed into a tight line, and she raised her hands in defense.

“First of all, thank you for that glowing compliment.”

She leaned forward. “I still have that day at the spa in Hamilton. We could go today, or any day you want.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m fine. I don’t need a spa appointment.”

Her eyes went to my hands. “Have you seen your nails lately?”

With a quick look at them, I saw the chipped paint and a couple broken nails and shoved my hands under my legs as I stared at my best friend. “Did you come here to warn me or to make me feel like utter shit?”

Frowning, she said, “I’m sorry, Soph. I just hate seeing you like this. Depressed and letting yourself go.”

It was my turn to frown. I glanced down at my white shirt, long brown sweater, jeans, and brown ankle boots. If I was being honest with myself, I thought I looked cute this morning.

Chloe was one of those friends who was your complete opposite, but also your perfect other half. Your ride or die. The one friend you knew would be there for you no matter what. She was as rich as Croesus and never stepped out of the house without her hair and makeup on point, her body outfitted in expensive designer everything. On the flip side, I would live in sweats and an oversized T-shirt if I thought I could get away with it.

“What do you mean, letting myself go?” I asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “Your hair is in a ponytail, Soph.”

Lifting a hand to my hair, I narrowed my eyes to her. “I always wear it in a ponytail.”

“Exactly! That’s my point. You’re not even trying. You have beautiful long brown hair that you could do so much with besides a…ponytail.”

I rolled my eyes and dropped my head back as I stared at the ceiling. I counted down and then looked across the desk at my friend. “Chloe, what do you do for a living?”

She frowned and replied, “I work for my mother’s charity.”

“What doIdo for a living?”

Glancing around my office, she said, “You run your mother’s dance studio.”

“And?” I urged her to keep going.

“Dance?”

Drawing in a small breath through my nose, I let it out. “I teachlittle onesto dance. Four, five, six…up to twelve. Tap, ballet, jazz, all that fun stuff.”

She grinned. “I know. It’s so cute to watch them.”

“Itiscute to watch them. But try teaching them. I can train a dog easier than I can get these kids to do a first position for me.It’s exhausting. So forgive me if I can’t show up in a pencil skirt, silk blouse, and with my hair done up in some elaborate French twist.”

“Okay, point taken. But right now, you’re sitting in your office, not dancing. You could be a little more dazzled up.”

“How about we move on from my appearance and go back to my mother setting up a dating profile for me?”

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