Chapter 25

It feelslike winter break ends faster than it should (it always does). The weeks go by in a blur of brightly colored paper and peppermint until she looks at the date and realizes she only has four days until classes start up again. Somehow, dread doesn't follow the discovery.

There's an eagerness buzzing beneath her skin—excitement. It's her last semester and she'll get to focus purely on her photography classes. It's enough to make her palms itch in anticipation. Especially after celebrating Jen's graduation a few days ago with board games and alcohol. Not for the first time, Sara almost wishes she would have followed in her friend's footsteps and just taken the extra classes her previous semesters.

She's searching her fridge for something to eat when her phone rings in her back pocket. Sara's relieved that it's Jen and not another telemarketer. She perches the phone between her cheek and shoulder. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, bestie! What are you up to?"

"It's a trap," Seth says from his chair. He doesn't even bother to look up from the television.

Sara shoots him a glare, fingers drumming on the fridge door as she holds it open. "Staring at the inside of my fridge and wondering if I'm going to eat cereal for dinner," Sara says, eyes flitting past the quart of milk and frowning at the suspiciously empty space beyond it. She wishes she was joking.

From his chair, Seth repeats, "It's a trap," a split second before Jen answers with, "We're going shopping."

Sara stifles a groan, closing the fridge door. Shopping with Jen was like running a marathon—she wouldn't be content until she searched every aisle, in every store, in the immediate area. "Why?"

"I have nothing to wear for my bachelorette party," Jen says, voice flirting on the edge of a whine. "Please, please, please come with me to find something?"

Sara knows, without a doubt, there's probably at least a dozen dresses stashed away in her best friend's closet that would be perfectly suited for a night out, but she bites her tongue. It's a special night, and while Sara doesn't feel the need to buy something new, she has no intention of disappointing Jen, either. "No more than five stores," she says.

"Six."

Sara recalls how many bridal shops they went to in search of a wedding dress and cringes. "Jen…"

"I have it all planned out this time, I swear! Six stores. All in the mall. That's it."

"When?"

On the line, Jen's voice turns sheepish. "… Now?"

She really doesn't want to go anywhere today, but a quick glance around her house gives her no viable reasons to say no. Sara sighs. "… Can we eat first?"

Jen laughs. Sara imagines her doing a victory dance. "Yeah, girl. We can eat first."

"Alright, but only because I love you."

"Yes! Ok, we'll be there to pick you up in about ten!"

Sara's heart drops. "We?"

"Yeah, Lisa and Mary are coming too!"

As pleasant as Mary's company is (especially with all the baby brother stories she loves to share about Miles) somehow it still can't make up for the absolute dread of having Lisa involved. Sara forces a smile, hoping it will make her sound more convincing when she says, "Sounds great."

From his chair, Seth chuckles—eyes dancing. "I did warn you."

The mall is crowded,full of people doing returns and exchanges for their Christmas gifts. Sara thought Seth would follow her, but looking over the sea of bodies, she understands why he didn't bother to get out of his chair. She also understands his amusement when he told her to ‘have fun.'

They've only made it through two stores, but Lisa's already ditching them for the high end retailers at the other end of the mall. Sara can't say she's angry about it (the less time she spends with Lisa, the better) but Mary makes no effort to hide her disapproval.

Shaking her head, braids tied back, she watches the blonde walk away until the crowd swallows her up. "That girl is something else."

Jen waves it off, the way she always does—an extra dose of chipper to help hide the disappointment. "It's fine. Really, I don't mind."

Sara and Mary share a look.

It's not fine at all.

Especially since Sara knows this is a long repeating pattern that's been going on since childhood. Lisa's always been selfish, and Jen has always been too forgiving to call her out on it. Sometimes Sara wonders if Jen would still bother trying if they weren't cousins.

Mary says nothing, but her lips purse as if she's tasted something sour. Sara has no doubt that she'll be sharing the details with Miles later. If anyone hates how Lisa walks all over Jen as much as Sara, it's him.

They make their way into the third store, their hands sliding the hangers and their eyes flitting over the dresses with a scrutinizing eye. A lot of it is more prom than club attire—full length adorned with incandescent beads and sequins—but they find some shorter ones, too.

"What about this one?" Jen asks, holding up a strapless dress.

Sara only needs one look at the neckline to dismiss it. "I don't have the boobs to hold that up."

"Like I do?" Jen presses it into her hands, putting on a mock serious face. "Tape is our friend."

Sara puts it back on the rack. "No."

From another rack, Mary hums. "Word to the wise: don't trust tape at a bachelorette party. Alcohol and gravity are not friends."

Jen pauses, chin tilted as she considered. "Good point. Straps then."

They each pull a handful, the fabric draped over their arms as they take turns using the fitting room. The retailer is a small one, the two fitting rooms covered only by an emerald curtain in place of a door. One is already taken by a pair of teenagers prom dress shopping.

Mary tries on three, but none of them impress her. Sara suspects she's still thinking about the slinky gold one she tried on and liked at the first store. She's lost track of how many Jen has tried on (seven, maybe?) but Sara knows she won't be satisfied enough to choose any of them until they've scoured the racks of all six stores.

Sara takes in her one pick, despite knowing it probably won't be going home with her. She (and her bank account) will be far from heartbroken if she leaves empty handed, but it's still fun to try on.

It's nice—emerald green with a silhouette that gives the illusion of more curves than she actually has. Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Sara opens the stall door and is instantly greeted by both Jen and Mary's approval. However, before she can fully bask in their praises, she spots his familiar face behind them.

Seth gifts her with his usual crooked smirk, a finger to his lips.

"Uh, Sara?" Jen says, startling her out of her stupor. Both her and Mary look over their shoulders and back, trying to find what caught her attention. "What are you staring at?"

Sara fumbles for an excuse. "Oh. I, well—"

Seth taps on one of the hangers on the rack beside him, eyes dancing. "Try this one, Princess."

She latches onto the excuse, walking past her confused companions to pull the dress from the rack. An embarrassed flush is threatening to spill over her cheeks, but she tries her best to sound convincing. It's a struggle to keep her eyes on the black lace in her hands instead of Seth's infuriatingly amused expression. "Sorry, this dress just caught my eye, is all."

Mary frowns. "Honey, you passed that one up a good three times."

Brows furrowing, Jen tilts her head. "Because it's lace. You hate lace. You've always hated lace."

If she could manage it without making herself look even crazier, she would pin Seth with a withering glare. As it is, she holds the dress up so she has an excuse to meet his eyes just past the dress's neckline.

He raises a brow. "A little trust wouldn't be remiss. Besides, what have you to lose?"

It's bad enough that he's right, but the fact that he knows it is insufferable. "I don't know, maybe I just need to give lace another try?"

Jen looks at her like she's grown a second head. "First your hair, and now lace? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

Sara rolls her eyes and takes the dress back into the dressing room to take a closer look without an audience. To be fair, it's not all lace—just the high neckline and the capped sleeves. The bottom half is a softer, stretchier material that feels like it could potentially be comfortable.

Still, Jen's not wrong about her usual distaste for lace.

With a silent groan, she slips it on—fingers fumbling with the button at the back of her neck before she turns to the skinny piece of mirror they've fit on the dressing room wall.

She stares.

From the front, the dress is modest. Completely covering her chest and capping her shoulders while still being form fitting. The extra fabric across her front seems to highlight the long expanse of her legs (though the effect is slightly ruined by her pink socks). She turns, admiring the way the low V accentuates the line of her spine, and gives a breathy laugh.

Leave it to Seth to find the one dress that would change her opinion on lace.

The bass hits deep,an echo over her heart; lyrics springing from her lips half a beat late. Sweat makes her hair stick to the back of her neck, and in some distant part of her, she's thankful she cut it short. The alcohol is buzzing under her skin, making her lightheaded and warm. The dress hugs her, a second skin that stretches with every twist of her hips.

It's all flashing lights and music, sweat rolling between her shoulder blades and panting, humid breath. Jen and Mary dance beside her, looking way more balanced than she is and far less out of breath. Sara's legs ache, her feet begging her to strip out of her stilettos and go barefoot. It would be a lot more tempting if she couldn't feel her soles sticking to the concrete floor with every step. Still, with every song the pain in her calves and arches becomes more persistent, until it becomes enough for her to tap the bride-to-be on the shoulder and shout over the music, "I'm gonna go rest for a sec!"

Jen nods, shouting back, "Okay!" Then her arms are around Sara's neck, her lips pressing against her cheek in a clumsy kiss. "I love you!"

Sara laughs, because drunk Jen loves everyone. "Love you, too! I'll be back!" She has to push her way through the crowd to get to the outskirts, but the air already feels a little less thin. There are no available chairs, but there's an empty corner that calls to her like a siren.

She leans against the wall, the brick shockingly cool against her back in comparison to the humidity in the room, and catches her breath. Distantly, in the part of her brain that's still pretending sobriety, she realizes she's not the only one taking a break from the crowd. Her head lolls, eyes taking a moment to focus enough to recognize that the man looking back at her—brows raised—is a familiar one. "You're here," she blurts.

His lips quirk. "And you're intoxicated."

Sara doesn't bother denying it.

His hands busy themselves, straightening his sleeves. "The music is barbarically loud. I can't say I see the appeal."

Watching the way his fingers fiddle with his cuff, a muddled thought breaks through the fog. "Were you watching me?"

He stills, mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. "Yes," he hisses. "And even as addled as you are, I'm sure you can see how unfairly you phrased that."

Frowning, she tries to understand, but his words slip away faster than she can interpret them. "Ok."

Seth's brows arch, his foul mood disappearing nearly as quickly as it came. "My, no argument?" His eyes look over her, lips curling into a teasing smile. "Now I'm certain that last round of tequila has hit."

Sara blanches, the burn in her throat still as present as the warmth lingering behind her ribs. "God, I hate tequila."

"Yes, you looked right miserable choking it down," he says, chuckling. "I suspect it would be in your best interest to start drinking something without warnings on the label. The bride-to-be doesn't appear to be slowing down at all."

Nodding, Sara finds Jen still dancing her heart out in the crowd. "This was always more her scene."

"It shows. She's quite adept at—what is it you call it? Dropping it like it's hot?"

Sara snorts on a laugh, hand covering her smile. "Please, stop."

"What, precisely, am I stopping?"

"Trying to sound cool," she teases.

Hand splayed over his heart, he puts on a mask of offense. "Don't be salty because I'm out here high key slaying your ridiculous vernacular."

"Oh my god," she laughs, hiding her face in her hands.

He grins. "I believe you call that a clap back."

"Stop."

"Are you… shook?"

"Please, please stop. Millennial slang isn't for people over a hundred."

Seth shrugs, his smile refusing to dim. "You know, depending on how you choose to look at it, I'm only four years your elder."

Sara starts, her amusement fading into surprise as her buzzed brain finally catches up to the math. "You're twenty-six?!"

"I'm not sure if your response to that should invoke pride or if I should feel insulted."

"No, it's just, you seem older is all." Her words catch up to her, and she shakes her head. "I mean, obviously you are older. I just—ugh. You know what I mean."

"Despite your blabbering, somehow I do."

The alcohol is still making her head fuzzy; bolstering her courage and trampling her reservations. She stares at him—the smooth skin of his cheek, the absence of wrinkles and crow's feet lining his face—and feels foolish. Of course he isn't much older.

But then she meets his eyes, remembers the depth of them, and feels her pulse quicken. It's his eyes that give him away.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "You are aware that you're staring?"

Mostly, but she's really too tipsy to care. "I've been getting a lot of compliments on my dress."

He huffs on a laugh—because of the sudden change in topic or the way some of her vowels slur, she can't be sure. "I have impeccable taste," he hums, hands disappearing into his pockets.

She frowns. "You know, there's something I can't figure out."

"Oh?"

"Well, you couldn't see it on the rack. And I know for a fact I never pulled it out to give it a better look." Her gaze slides to his, fingers playing with the lace at her collar. "I can't figure out how you knew to pick it."

In their corner, the lighting is dim at best, but she swears she sees the muscles in this throat work around a swallow. "Yes, quite the mystery."

She bites her lip, smiling. "Right? It was almost like you had scoped the place out before we got there." Her eyes find his. "But that would be ridiculous."

He shifts, looking away. "Ridiculous. Definitely ridiculous," he mutters, so low Sara barely catches the words.

She leans back, head tipping upward as she sighs. The brick is cool against her flushed skin, the club lights flashing behind her eyelids as she wills the world to slow down for just this one moment.

"It looks lovely on you, by the way."

She opens her eyes, head turning to look at him. He's staring out over the dance floor, expression neutral. For a moment, she wonders if he never said anything at all—if she imagined it. Then he meets her gaze in a fleeting glance, before darting away, and Sara knows she heard him correctly.

"Thank you," she says, voice softer than it should be considering their surroundings. It's only his subtle nod, the way his hands fidget in his pockets, that assures her that he heard. There's something between them—so thick she feels like she could almost reach out and touch it—but with the alcohol blurring the edges of her thoughts she can't figure out a name for it.

Sara's lips part, but before she can find the words, she hears Jen shouting her name and weaving her way through the crowd.

"Sara! Come on! It's our jam, girl!" Jen grabs her hand, pulling her back into the fray of people. Sara only has time to glance behind her once, but the sight of him—leaning casually against the brick with his eyes dark and his lips tipped into a soft smile—haunts her for the rest of the night.