LEXIE
Istare at my reflection in the full-length mirror propped against my bedroom wall, tilting my head as if a different angle might transform me into someone else. Someone who doesn't look like she's about to attend a funeral rather than a date with two supposedly compatible men.
"This is a mistake," I tell my reflection. She silently agrees.
The black dress hugs my curves in all the right places, but its severe neckline and knee-length hem scream "business meeting" more than "take me home tonight." I grab a chunky silver necklace from my dresser, hoping it might inject some personality into the outfit. The jewelry lands heavily against my collar bone, looking about as natural as Christmas lights on a cactus.
I yank it off and toss it onto the growing pile of rejected accessories. My phone buzzes from somewhere beneath the mountain of clothes on my bed, all discarded options that failed to strike the impossible balance between "I made an effort" and "I didn't try too hard because I don't actually care."
Jessica's name flashes on the screen. Perfect timing, as always.
"What?" I answer, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I dig through my closet for the fourth time.
"Wow, so pleasant," Jessica chirps, undeterred by my greeting. "Just checking you haven't bailed on your hot date yet."
"I still have an hour before I need to leave." I pull out a burgundy sweater dress that I'd forgotten about, considering its possibilities. "Plenty of time to develop a sudden case of food poisoning."
"Don't you dare." Jessica's voice sharpens. "What are you planning to wear? Please don't say one of your sweaters."
"What's wrong with my sweaters?" I ask, dropping the burgundy dress onto the bed. Good thing she can't see through the phone, even if I sometimes wonder.
"Nothing!" Jessica says quickly.Tooquickly. "They're just not exactly first date material unless you're going to pick pumpkins at a pumpkin patch."
I roll my eyes. "I have sweaters that aren't... festive."
I glance at the stack of merchandise across my living room, where a particularly festive pumpkin-themed sweater catches my eye. It has little embroidered pumpkins with different expressions along the hem. The smiley one near the cuff practically winks at me.
She knows me too well.
Jessica snorts. "No wool. Andnoembroidered critters."
I drop the mini dress with little cats embroidered on the collar like it's made of lava. Shit.
I sigh, flopping onto the one clear corner of my bed. "I'll have you know people pay good money for my designs. You're wearing one right now, aren't you?"
"Yes, and it's perfect for sitting on my couch with a glass of wine and my husband. Not for meeting two potential matches at Martin's."
My stomach drops. "Martin's? Nobody said anything about Martin's."
"Oh." Jessica's voice takes on that faux-innocent tone she uses when she's been caught. "Did I forget to mention that? Andrew—thedoctor—messaged me to change the reservation. Said the other place was too noisy for conversation."
"Andrew messagedyou?"
"Through the app! I made the account, remember?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "So you've been chatting with my dates behind my back?"
"Not chatting. Just... facilitating. And aren't you glad? Martin's is a much nicer restaurant. We've been trying to get reservations for months, you lucky dog, you."
I glance at the black dress I'd selected for the cozy little Italian bistro they'd originally suggested. Martin's requires an entirely different level of effort.
"I'm going to look underdressed now."
"Wear your blue dress," Jessica suggests immediately. "The one with the?—"
"Rhinestone collar?" I finish for her, already moving to the back of my closet where the dress hangs in its dry cleaning bag. I'd bought it for Jessica's anniversary party last year and have worn it exactly once. It's beautiful but impractical. The kind of dress that requires specific undergarments and careful movement to avoid wardrobe malfunctions that could end in public indecency charges.
"Yes! It's perfect. You look amazing in it."
