Page 131 of Knot Baked Out For This
"She cried?"
"Happy tears! Here, let me show you?—"
She pulls out her phone, and there I am, in a video someone took at the farmer's market.
The caption reads "Small Town Omega Living the Dream" with approximately seventeen fire emojis.
"I'm going to die," I mutter.
"You're going to try on clothes," Levi corrects, already pulling things off racks with surprising expertise. "This green would be perfect with your eyes."
"Since when do you know about colors matching eyes?"
"Since I started paying attention to yours."
Smooth bastard.
What follows is two hours of Levi enthusiastically playing stylist while I try on everything from sundresses — impractical for October— to cozy sweaters (practical but boring) to a velvet dress that costs more than my monthly grocery budget but makes me look like a 1950s movie star.
"That one," Levi says immediately when I emerge in the velvet dress. It's burgundy, fitted through the bodice, full skirt that swirls when I turn.
"It's too expensive."
"It's too perfect."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"They are when you look like that."
His eyes have gone dark, pupils dilated, and his scent—honey and butter andwant—fills the small space.
"Levi—"
"We're getting it."
"You can't just?—"
"Watch me."
He buys the dress. And the green sweater. And a pair of earrings I looked at for three seconds. The sales associate practically floats with her commission high, and I'm torn between mortification and something warm that feels dangerously like being cherished.
"This is too much," I protest as we leave, bags in hand.
"Nothing's too much for you."
"That's patently untrue. Many things are too much. Like your spending habits."
"Like your refusal to accept nice things."
"I accept nice things!"
"Name one."
"I accepted you."
The words are out before I can stop them, hanging between us in the October afternoon.
Levi stops walking, turns to face me fully. "Yeah?"
