Free Normal by Graeme Cameron Page B

you.”
    “Should I take that as a compliment, or are you saying I look like a gypsy?”
    “Well, I meant it as a compliment.” As if it wasn’t written all over my face.
    “Well, thank you, then, that’s settled.” She turned to offer me a warm smile. Those eyes held mine for a fleeting moment.
    “I probably wouldn’t buy it, though,” I added. “It’s too pale. It’ll get dirty easily. And it’s cotton so you’ll have to hand-wash it every time.”
    She regarded me with something halfway between suspicion and amusement. “That’s a fair point,” she agreed. “But if my bum looks good in it, I don’t care.” She skipped back toward the fitting room with a wide grin. “Wait right there,” she instructed.
    I complied without thinking. Loitering at the fitting room door colors a man patient and loyal, and attracts far less attention than perhaps it ought.
    Caroline-until-further-notice reappeared within a minute, the intended new skirt draped over her arm. “Okay,” she said, “why are you still standing there empty-handed?” She looked as though she could hear the cogs grinding in my head. “Hmm, let me guess. It’s your wife’s birthday, and she’s seen a sexy little set she likes, but you weren’t listening when she described it.”
    I laughed at her accusatorially raised eyebrow. “I’m not married,” I assured her.
    “Girlfriend?”
    “No.”
    “Boyfriend?”
    “No.”
    “You like dressing up?”
    “Um...”
    “Mind my own business?”
    “Yes, my niece,” I blathered.
    “Ahhh...” She allowed herself a brief, satisfied nod of approval, just long enough for her to tie up the loose ends. “Wait, you’re buying underwear for your niece?” She cocked her head at me, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. I opened my mouth to respond but she cut me dead. “No, you don’t have to answer that. Really. None of my business. I shouldn’t—”
    “No, it’s fine.” I smiled. The lie was unusually slow in formulating. “I mean, I am buying underwear for my niece, but that’s only half the story. I’m actually buying everything for her. She’s...got no clothes.” I wasn’t helping myself here. The returned expression was one of bemused concern. I laughed as confidently as I could under the circumstances. “I wish we could start this conversation again,” I said.
    “Yes, let’s.”
    It came to me. I took a deep breath, swallowed my frustration. “She’s down on business and she’s staying at my house. When she arrived last night she put her suitcase down in the station, and someone walked off with it.”
    “Oh, no.”
    “Yes. So she’s had to go into work wearing the clothes she traveled down in, and because she’s in meetings all through the weekend and into next week, she’s not going to get a chance to pick anything up, so I said I’d help her out.” The plot holes were apparent even before I’d finished speaking.
    The spark, however, had returned to Caroline’s eyes. “Well,” she said brightly, “that’s very noble and a huge relief. I thought I was going to have to start backing slowly away from you.”
    “Of course, I don’t have the slightest idea of what I’m doing. I can confidently tell you that your skirt looks good when you’re wearing it, but on a hanger? I couldn’t even tell you it was a skirt.”
    Caroline held up her free hand, signaling that enough was enough. “Okay, stop.” She laughed. “I can spot a hint, but I don’t often take them. If you want me to help you, just ask.”
    I couldn’t have hoped for a finer recovery, and I didn’t need a second invitation. I cooed in exaggerated helplessness. “Will you help me, please?”
    “On one condition,” she warned.
    “Anything.”
    “When we’re done, you buy me a cup of tea and some cake. My time most certainly doesn’t come for free.”
    Despite the butterflies, I managed an honest smile. “Sold.”
            
    It took Caroline two minutes shy of two hours to model virtually