Page 19 of Eye of the Beholder

All right. I can do this. Feeling slightly calmer, I pull on the first pair of pants. They’re a little short and a little tight, so I take them off and put on the second pair—and give a little sigh of relief.

They’re socomfortable.The sign was right. Maximum stretch and maximum comfort. Encouraged, I pull on one of the new shirts—yellow with a blue and pink floral pattern. It’s more fitted than one of my t-shirts, but it’s not skin tight, which I greatly appreciate. The V-neck isn’t too low, either. I prefer to keep all my business covered up. I give a few experimental twists. I raise my arms above my head; the shoulders don’t pull, and my stomach isn’t exposed.

I’m in. I’m in before I even look in the mirror.

But then I look.

And I look…good. This shirt is incredibly flattering. The jeans are so comfortable that at this point I don’t care what they look like, but they look good, too.

I look good. I mean, I’m no Virginia Cook. But I’m not sure Virginia Cook is all Virginia Cook anymore, either. She may have had work done. Even so…

I look good, and I feel good, and I feel good about how I look. That’s enough for me.

“Cohen?” I say, because I don’t hear him talking to the sales girl anymore.

“Yeah,” he says. When he speaks again, his voice is closer, and I can tell he’s right outside the door. “Are you almost done? You’re taking forever.”

“I told you you didn’t have to come with me. I graciously let you tag along,” I remind him. “You are here because I am nice.”

“Right,” he says. “Sorry.”

Then I feel bad for reminding him that his estranged father is at his house doing who-knows-what, so I go on. “But yes. I am done.”

“And?” he says, sounding apprehensive.

I hesitate for a second, and then I speak. “I’m in.”

“Are you going to show me?” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“I told you I wasn’t,” I say, but I can’t help it; I smile, too.

“But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he says, sounding teasing. “You don’t have to, but it would be nice to know what I’ve got to work with.”

I bite back my smile. It’s an excuse, and we both know it; he’s just nosy. But maybe I’m just a little bit vain, because I open the dressing room door and step out anyway.

Cohen steps back immediately, looking startled at my appearance. I get a faint whiff of his cologne as I say,

“Well, don’t stand so close.”

His face is unreadable save for a brief look of surprise as he looks at me, his gaze running the length of my body in a not-so-subtle way. I can feel my cheeks heating.

“Say something,” I say. Then I think better of it. “Actually, don’t.”

And then out of nowhere he’s laughing. My previously pink cheeks are probably now tomato red. I fold my arms, but before I can speak, he says,

“As your mentor, I will just say that you look good.” He’s still chuckling as he sits back down. “You’ll be fine. This will work. I hope you’re buying those.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice coming out in its seemingly ever-present squeak. “So it’s—it’s fine?”

He hesitates for a beat before answering, and I see something like appreciation in his eyes. “Yep. What does your hair do?”

“You were laughing at me,” I say, ignoring his question. I lean back against the doorframe to give my strangely jittery legs a break.

He grins. “I wasn’t laughingatyou. I was just laughing. I was surprised.” He pauses and then goes on. “Pleasantly surprised. Which I can say—”

“As my mentor,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips.

“Exactly. Now what does your hair do?” he says, eyeing me.

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