One outfit turns into seven, and soon I’m standing at the register with more than I intended to buy. He knew my size… something I remind myself to ask him about later, because it’s weird. And except for a very revealing skirt, I’m buying everything he picked out for me. It’s all high quality—silks and cashmere, thin cotton that feels like butter, linen fabric that feels way too expensive, and a pair of jeans that somehow hugs my ass and hips in all the right places.
