my hands in his hands. I step closer to him until our bodies touch. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot our reflection on a fitting-room mirror. I turn to see just how perfect we look together. He’s way more put together than I am. His clothes are newer, more expensive. I look cute, but still a little hood, a little less polished. He watches us too. And he slips his arms around my waist while still looking at us. I lean in to his chest. “Perfect,” he whispers.
