Free The Professional by Rhonda Nelson

sequins caught the light.
    “Maybe so, but they’re criminally unflattering. Of course, it would help if you’d buy the right size. They’re too big and boxy. They give you all the dimension of a kitchen sponge.” She thrust a small purse into her hands and dropped a black, fringed shawl over her shoulders. “Come along, we need to get going.”
    “I need to be able to move,” Sophie told her as Cora quickly herded her out the front door. A gust of cold wind scattered leaves across the porch, making her long for a more substantial coat. “I do a lot of bending and stretching. I’d be miserable in tight clothing.”
    “We’ll take the golf cart tonight and save our feet for dancing,” Cora told her. “And being tight and fitting are two different things, dear. No worries.” She started the cart and backed out of the driveway. “Now that I know your proper size, I’ll have some made for you.”
    “What? No, I—”
    “I knew when I saw that dress it would be the one you’d choose,” Cora said. “The peacock design is especially gorgeous, isn’t it? And those colors look fabulous with your skin.”
    She didn’t know about the colors and her skin—skin was skin, wasn’t it?—but the dress was definitely stunning. It was a black halter-style design with jewel-toned beaded peacock feather embellishments which snaked over the bodice and down over her right hip. The lower half of the gown was accordion-pleated chiffon with a ruffled, flirty hem. The dress feathered around her feet with every step she took and felt good against her legs.
    True to her word, Cora had insisted on doing her hair and make-up. Rather than loading her hair up with a lot of goopy spray, her fairy godmother had rolled it on huge rollers to give it a little extra body, then let it fall loosely around her shoulders. She’d gotten a little more dramatic with the make-up—had insisted the dress deserved it—but, rather than forcing every feature to make a bold statement, she’d focused most of her attention on Sophie’s eyes. “It’s eyes or lips, dear,” she explained. “Never both.”
    Sophie had known a little dart of panic when she’d watched Cora whip out the green eye shadow, but she had to admit that the finished effect was noticeable, but not garish. She should have known not to worry, she thought, darting a glance at her older friend, a wry grin curling her lips.
    Cora might be willing to hastily host a dance to put her on display for Foy’s Grandson—she got the sudden mental image of Cora leading her around a rink with a leash attached to her neck, feeding her chocolate treats every time she did something right, just like a dog show she’d watched recently, and smothered a laugh—and buy her a tasteful but sexy dress, but ultimately she’d draw the line at tacky or inappropriate.
    And it was hard to stay annoyed with her when Cora so clearly thought she was being helpful. So determined to find her a man. Come to think of it, she’d been particularly relentless about it since Gran died. That, and making sure that she was safe. Gran had confided in her about the “family” problems and Cora had insisted on alerting the guard at the front gate after the incident with her animals. It meant a lot.
    Sophie cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said. “For all of this.” She gestured to the dress, feeling suddenly awkward.
    Cora grinned. “You are more than welcome, dear.” She pulled up to the community center and, ignoring the “No Parking” signs nearest the door, did just that.
    “Cora, Marjorie will—”
    “Some rules beg to be broken, dearest.” She shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll leave the keys in the ignition and if she’s that upset about it, she can move it herself.” She glanced at the doorway and gasped delightedly. “Doesn’t that look lovely? Joy and Martha have certainly outdone themselves.”
    They had, Sophie thought, following her gaze. Corn stalks wrapped with twinkle lights stood