Facade of Love (Yvette Scott and Idris Young) novel Chapter 468

The salesperson sized me up and beamed, "Right away, sir."

She turned to me, "What's your style, miss?"

I glanced over at him, lounging in the seating area like he owned the place, and my mouth quivered in spite of myself. All that just to go shopping?

I could not figure out his angle, and frankly, I did not want to. I just told the salesperson, "I'm all about comfort."

She nodded and we dove into the racks of clothes.

It had been ages since I had gone clothes shopping. Lately, I had almost forgotten that I was a vibrant young woman in her prime, with the same simple pleasures as anyone else—flowers, window-shopping, delicious treats, and a bit of fun.

I couldn't pinpoint when it all started, but my mind was a jigsaw puzzle of broken memories: Kobe, torn apart by an explosion, Officer Jackson, his last breath stolen by a downpour, Renata, consumed by flames, Jack, whose heartbeat faded in a hospital bed, and Moore and Christina, broken by the cruelty of prison walls. Dead or alive, they were all suffocating memories that weighed me down.

A year had passed, and my life had been drained of hope and color, leaving nothing but shades of despair and fear.

Talk about a sad existence!

"Miss..." A salesperson's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

I blinked back to reality and noticed her anxious gaze, clothes in hand. "If these aren't to your liking, feel free to browse some more, or perhaps try a different style," she offered.

Realizing I had zoned out big time, I quickly shook my head and managed a half-hearted smile. "No, this one's fine."

After all, clothes were just clothes. They covered you up, and that was that.

"Try on a few more for her!" Lucas called out from the lounge area, his hands propped under his chin, eyes lazily watching us.

The salesperson bobbed her head in agreement and scurried off to fetch more options, leaving the outfit with me to test out in the fitting room.

I shot a look at Lucas, lounging there with that infuriatingly charming grin. If it were not for that face, I would have cursed him out a thousand times by then. With a glare, I disappeared into the fitting room.

The dress was a one-piece, not bad looking, really. Maybe the recent blues had me swimming in it, unable to give it the shape it deserved.

The salesperson's voice, full of false urgency, nudged me from outside the fitting room. I stepped out, zipping up the dress, as she piled on the compliments. Whether it was genuine or just part of the sales spiel, who knew?

I checked myself out in the mirror. The dress was not hideous on me, but it was not exactly a showstopper either.