The car was still warm from the diner’s parking lot when Tommy pointed at a strip mall ahead. “Pull in there.”
Fred flicked the turn signal. “Clothes?”
“I can’t live in your dead grandma’s dresses, Fred.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. She held up a sleeve of the borrowed blouse, the floral fabric loose and faded. “I need things that fit. That are mine.”
The shop was one of those chain boutiques with bright lights and loud pop music. Racks of clothes in jewel tones and black. Tommy moved through them with a new, deliberate focus, her fingers brushing over fabrics.
Fred lingered near a display of scarves. He watched her pull a dress from a rack—short, sleeveless, a deep emerald green. She held it against her front, turning toward a mirror on a pillar. The dress would stop high on her thighs. The neckline would plunge.
“That’s… a statement,” he said.
“It fits.” She didn’t look at him. She checked the tag, then draped it over her arm. She selected a second dress, this one a wrap style in burgundy. Then a pair of high-waisted jeans that looked painted on, and a silky black top with a neckline that dipped to a V.
Every piece clung to an idea of her body—the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast, the taper of her waist. It was a catalog of her new shape. Fred felt a slow, possessive heat curl in his gut just watching her choose them.
She headed for the fitting rooms, a small pile in her arms. The attendant, a bored-looking girl with a lip ring, unlocked a stall for her. Tommy paused at the curtain. “You coming?”
He followed her in. The stall was narrow, mirror on one wall. She handed him the pile and turned her back. “Unzip me.”
He worked the zipper of the borrowed dress down her spine. The fabric fell away from her shoulders. She stepped out of it, standing in just a pair of plain cotton panties from his grandmother’s drawer. Her skin was still faintly damp from the shower they’d shared hours ago. She smelled like his soap.
She took the green dress first, shimmying it over her head. The fabric whispered down her body. It fit like it was made for her. The hem brushed the middle of her thighs. The neckline gaped slightly between her breasts, showing a shadow of cleavage. She turned to the mirror.
Her reflection held still. Then a slow smile touched her mouth. She smoothed her hands over her hips, the material stretching taut. “Yeah.”
“It’s very short,” Fred said. His voice came out rough.
“I know.” She turned, looking at herself over her shoulder. The back was just as low. “You like it.”
It wasn’t a question. He could see himself in the mirror behind her, his gaze fixed on the line where the dress ended and her skin began. He didn’t answer.
She changed into the wrap dress next. This one was softer, the fabric flowing. She tied the belt snug around her waist. It emphasized the same things—the fullness of her chest, the roundness of her hips. She untied it, let it fall open, and retied it tighter. “Better.”
“Tommy.”
“Hmm?”
“If we’re… if you’re going to be pregnant.” He said the word carefully. It hung in the fluorescent light. “You might want to think about clothes that’ll stretch. That’ll last through that.”
She stopped adjusting the belt. Her eyes met his in the mirror. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture softened. She turned to face him fully, the dress gaping slightly where the wrap crossed her chest. “You’re thinking ahead.”
“Someone has to.”
She stepped closer, until the toes of her bare feet almost touched his shoes. She took his hand and placed it flat on her lower belly, over the silky fabric. Her skin was warm beneath. “Then pick something. Something you’d want to see me in when I’m carrying your child.”
His thumb stroked once, a slow pass over the hypothetical swell. The possessiveness in his gut tightened, sharpened. He looked past her shoulder, at the clothes discarded on the bench. “The jeans will be too tight in a month. The dresses might work longer.”
“Okay.”
“Get a couple of those stretchy tops. The long ones. And…” He nodded toward a rack visible through the crack in the curtain. “Those leggings. The black ones.”
She didn’t move. Her hand covered his, pressing it harder against her stomach. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“That I’m going to be pregnant.” Her voice was low, just for him. The music from the store outside felt suddenly very far away.
He leaned in. His mouth brushed her ear. “You’re going to be pregnant.” The words were a vow in the cramped, bright space. “You’re going to carry my child. And you’ll need clothes that stretch.”
A shiver went through her. She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, they were dark, satisfied. “Good.”
She released his hand and turned back to the mirror, untied the wrap dress, and let it pool at her feet. She stood naked except for the panties, looking at her own body with a critical, approving eye. She touched her own hip, then the curve of her breast. “It’ll change,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It’ll get even fuller.”
Fred watched her. The heat in him was a steady, demanding pulse. He reached out and traced the line of her spine with one finger, from the nape of her neck down to the waistband of her panties. She arched into the touch, just slightly.
“Get the clothes, Tommy.” His voice was quiet. “Before I forget we’re in public.”
She dressed quickly then, in the original borrowed clothes. She gathered the green dress, the wrap dress, the jeans, the black top. Then she slipped out of the stall and came back with two of the long stretchy tops and a pair of the black leggings. She piled everything into his arms. “Hold these.”
She left him in the fitting room and went to pay. He stood there, surrounded by the scent of her and new fabric, listening to the muffled sound of her voice at the register. He looked at the clothes in his arms. The green dress shimmered under the lights. It was a promise. A claim. A wardrobe for the woman she was now—and for the mother she would become.
When she returned, she took the bags from him. Her fingers brushed his, and the silver ring on her hand was warm against his skin. “Let’s go home,” she said.