Page 24 of Not a Perfect Save

Ella finally turns to face me. I grab the remote and mute the TV. “You think that’s bad?” She casts a side-eye at the screen. “It was ten times worse. Felt like a Barbie-gottabe half the time. Well, not really. Hannah was the Barbie. I was the ugly young Skipper.”

“Skipper?”

“Barbie’s younger sister.”

“Huh.”Who knew.

Ella shakes her head. “And you’ve met Hank. He was her Ken Doll. They were the golden couple of our town. Meanwhile, I was the shy, sick kid with braces that everyone felt sorry for.”

“Shy?” I stare. There’s no way that’s true.

Correctly deciphering my look, she says, “When I was younger, yes. My parents meant well, but sometimes it seemed like it was easier for them to forget me and focus on Hannah. It was better for me anyway—keep my mouth shut and try to disappear instead of sticking out for the wrong reasons. Of course, once I outgrew all my health issues, my parents went into overdrive, determined that I would experience everything—dance classes, parties, fancy clothes, the works.” She shudders. “It was as if they expected me to emerge from my cocoon like a beautiful butterfly. Imagine their surprise when they got a little hornet instead.”

I frown when she describes herself like that, but she continues on, “By then, I didn’t even know how to fit in anymore—not that it bothered me.” It didn’t? Sound like she’s trying to convince herself more than me.

“It was easier for Mom and Dad to focus on Hannah whenever I wasn’t in the hospital. They love me to pieces, but didn’t always know what to do with me.” Ella smiles in remembrance now. “But it took forever to convince them that I was more badass than Barbie and let me do my own thing.”

“Then?”

“Then I went off to college. I studied fashion but ended up moving back home after.”

“Wait, you hated dressing up, and now you make clothes?” That’s a contradiction if I’ve ever heard one.

She shrugs. “Just because I don’t like to wear them doesn’t mean I don’t understand the artistry behind them. I had to alter my clothes myself. Mom was delusional because she’d buy outfits for me in Hannah’s size, determined to doll me up. I was forever letting out seams and hemming things in. When I started to get good at it, Hannah would give me her clothes to adjust.”

I take her in, then sweep my gaze to the mannequin in the corner. “You designed that?”

“Modified it actually. My favorite thing is taking clothes apart and then putting them back together differently.” She smiles fondly at her dummy. She looks happy. It’s easy to tell she loves her work—she gets so animated talking about it.

I ask idly. “So did you have a Ken doll of your own?”

Ella’s face twists into a tortured grimace. “Hells, no.”

“Why not?”

“Bland, blond, and brainless.” She rolls her eyes.

My brows rise. “Judgy, much?”

She shrugs. “My parents did try to set me up, like, a million times,” she continues. “Some of them even looked like you.” She wrinkles her nose.

“Like me?”

“You know, the tall, broad, All-American type.”

“You calling me a Ken doll?” I think I should be offended on behalf of all the blonds in the world, but I’m enjoying this conversation a little too much.

Color floods Ella’s cheeks when she realizes that her words may be interpreted as an insult. “No, no. Just saying you—they—aren’t my type.”

“Not your type, huh?” Maybe she’s not into other Ken-doll types, but there’s no mistaking her attraction to me.

“Nope.”

I study her. “Then what is your type?”

She shrugs. “Dunno. Just different from most of the people I knew. Guys who were happier to be in the background like me. Simpler.”

Background material? Ella? “None of them stuck?”

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