Page 37 of The Road Sometimes Taken

“Lemme see, lemme see.” She has the biggest smile on her face and her hands together in front of her chest like she is two seconds away from a cheer clap.

“Three outfits and a hat to match,” I say proudly, holding up the garments in my hands.

“Ah! Good job!! Those look like me!” Cara shouts.

Handing her the clothes and pointing at the cart next to her, I ask, “What about you?”

“You’re going to have to wait and see. Go try it on and come out to model for us.”

“Who’s us?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows and looking around. That’s when I notice the two employees sitting by the dressing room doors. “Well hello, ladies,” I croon, giving them each my hand to shake.

“You’re such a flirt. Let’s go,” Cara taunts, pulling me by the arm and dragging to the dressing room. The rooms are side by side, divided by a thin wall and even though I can’t see her, I can hear her ruffling around with her clothes.

“Cara, you okay over there?” I ask as I change into the first pair of dress pants and white collared shirt. This is already a no. It smells like Abuela’s closet, and I look like I’m going to prep school.

“Hush and get dressed,” she shouts from her side and I snicker because this is ridiculous—but who am I to say no to her?

I hear the door to the changing room open so I get out of the small stall and stand across from her showing off my outfit. Cara tries to contain her laughter but instead she nods to one of the women sitting down. A Taylor Swift song plays —hardnotto know it’s a Taylor song after Allie listens to her non-stop—and she struts down toward them, swaying her hips and walking to the beat. She’s wearing white pants that don’t reach her ankles with a pink top and a fluffy hat. I added that hat as a joke, but of course, Cara can pull it off. She spins around, walking in my direction, and when she reaches me, she grabs my hand and pulls me, leading me toward the space she just walked by.

“What?” I ask, wondering what the deal is.

“Model for us, hotshot, let’s see your runway strut,” she urges, clapping her hands to the beat of the song.

These girls want a show? Then it’s show time!

I start walking down the made-up runway, exaggerating my steps as if I were a model putting on a show. When I make it to the racks of clothes, I turn around and smile. I walk back and repeat the same. Walk, pose, smile, repeat. With a loud round of applause, I make it back to the dressing room area and Cara’s laughing now. So damn hard. So cute, too.

I get right next to her, bringing my hands around her back and pulling her to me. If pretending she’s mine is what I’m doing today, then I’m playing along every chance that I can. “Do I get a ten?” I ask, whispering into the shell of her ear and causing her to shiver and tense under my touch.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask the judges?” she manages to ask and I swear she’s trying hard as hell not to be affected by me. Why am I playing with fire when I know I can’t let it burn?

I let her go, turning around to see the ladies and ask, “So is that a ten?”

The shortest of the two ladies smirks and coos, “Honey, you get a twenty,” making everyone laugh. Good thing this store is empty or this would be bad for business. The employees are sitting down, staring at two complete strangers making fools of themselves trying on clothes and having a fashion show.

We go back to our changing rooms, and although more laughter fills the air as we get ready to head out again, I hear a sharp, frustrated curse from Cara’s dressing room, followed by a loud thud that echoes against the walls.

I frown, my heart skipping a beat. “Cara, are you okay?” I call out, straining to catch any hint of her tone over the noise.

“Yup! Perfect!” she replies too quickly, her voice a pitch higher than usual, tinged with something that doesn’t quite match her words.

I get out of my own dressing room and step closer to her door, the faint sound of her shuffling and a muffled sigh reaching my ears, layered beneath the chatter from the store. It’s a struggle, the kind that seems to reverberate in the air—her breath hitching as she tries to keep it together while she mumbles something under her breath.

“Are you sure? It sounds a little... chaotic in there,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, but concern lingers just beneath the surface.

“Just a minor wardrobe malfunction!” she calls back, though I can hear the strain in her words, the way they crack like thin ice.

I take a deep breath. “Do you need help? I can come in.” Do I want to go in there? Do I want to be close to Cara in this enclosed space? Yes. Should I? Probably not. If self-preservation was a gift, I have none.

“Nope. Absolutely not.Definitely not!” she shoots back, but I can hear her moving around again, the rustle of fabric and the scrape of something heavy hitting the floor.

“Cara,” I press, leaning against the doorframe, my voice softer. “Just open up, alright? I’m right here.”

There’s a pause, the silence thick with unspoken words. I can almost hear her weighing her options, the tension hanging heavy in the air. Finally, she exhales slowly. “Fine! Just give me a second!” She opens the door and lets me see what’s going on.

I try my hardest not to laugh, but Cara seems to be stuck in one of the dresses I grabbed for her. This particular one seems to be fitted, which means she’s currently wearing a piece of fabric that is practically painted on her body except for the top part.Thatis tilted sideways halfway through her chest. She’s covering her breast with one hand while the other is twisted, trying to grab the zipper.

My unreleased laughter dies on my throat because Cara’s perfect body is in full display in front of me and her cheeks are rosy from the exertion of trying to get the dress on or off. I swallow hard, my eyes roaming her whole body until her words snap me out of it.

---