Page 44 of Across the Boards

She’s right, and it’s infuriating. “When did you get so insightful?”

“I’ve always been insightful. You’ve just been too stubborn to notice.” She grins, then turns serious again. “Try on the red dress. Just one more. For me.”

I sigh but nod. “Fine. One more. But if it has feathers, sequins, or requires double-sided tape, I’m walking out.”

“No feathers,” she promises, handing me a garment bag. “Just... trust me.”

The dress she hands me is nothing like I expect. It’s a deep burgundy rather than bright red, with a classic silhouette that somehow manages to be both elegant and striking. The neckline is modest but flattering, the waist fitted, the skirt falling in soft folds to the floor. When I slip it on, it feels like it was made for me.

“Sarah,” I breathe, staring at my reflection.

“I know.” She zips it up with a satisfied smile. “This is the one.”

“It’s perfect.” I turn to see the back—equally tasteful but with a subtle cutout that’s unexpected without being scandalous.

“You’re going to knock him dead,” Sarah says with certainty.

“It’s not about Brody,” I protest, but even I don’t believe it.

“Of course not.” Sarah hands me matching heels. “It’s about you reclaiming your place at these events. On your terms. In a dress that makes you feel powerful.”

And it does make me feel powerful. Confident in a way I haven’t in years. “When did you get so smart about fashion psychology?”

“Around the same time you started pretending you weren’t falling for your hockey player neighbor.” She grins at my glare. “Try the shoes.”

My phone buzzes from my purse on the dressing room bench.

“If that’s Brody, tell him you can’t talk because you’re trying on sexy dresses that will render him speechless,” Sarah says.

“I will tell him no such thing,” I mutter, checking the message.

How’s the shopping going? Found the perfect dress to make all the hockey wives jealous?

Shopping with Sarah is psychological warfare. Send help. Or wine.

That bad?

She tried to put me in something that was essentially body paint with sequins.

...I see no problem here.

Of course you don’t. You’re a man with functioning eyeballs.

Guilty as charged. You could wear a potato sack and still be the most beautiful woman at the gala.

I feel my cheeks heat at his words.

Flattery will get you nowhere, Carter.

Evidence suggests otherwise. You’re still texting me.

“If you’re done sexting with your ‘friend,’” Sarah interrupts, “we need to decide on this dress before the sales associate thinks we’re living here.”

“We’re not sexting,” I protest, putting my phone away. “We’re discussing appropriate gala attire.”

“Sure, and I’m discussing world peace with Tommy when he’s at away games and I’m sending him nudes.”

“Sarah!” I’m scandalized but also laughing.

---