Mentally, Foster scanned her closet. “So, pretty much tear down the drapes and make a brand-new wardrobe in the next hour.”
Sabine had poked her head back into the foyer, craning her neck to eye the kitchen’s checkered window treatments, a deep dimple appearing beneath her right cheek as she smiled. “You better get to sewing.”
Foster almost had to until she’d found the dress that Cora had obviously bought for her since it was girly and pretty and not flannel.
Maybe she should go all the way, try something completely different and get out of the security blanket disguised as a long-sleeve button-down. She shrugged out of the top and let it pool around her feet. “I actually have arms.” She chuckled nervously before smoothing her palms down the wrinkleless, unmarred cotton. “And this is way better than curtains.” She rose onto her tiptoes and turned her back to the mirror. Looking over her shoulder, she narrowed her gaze to her butt and stretched the flowing skirt firmly against her very large and very comfortable leopard-spotted panties.
She nodded to herself. Giant underpants completely hidden.
Even though it was their first date, gulp, and Foster had shaved her legs for the first time in … she squinted up at the ceiling as if her memories were packed away in the attic. She shrugged. Well, she’d shaved for the first time in far too long, but that didn’t mean that she wanted Tate to see her panties through her dress as if she was luring him out of the friend zone with her jungle cat–spotted ass.
Goose bumps popped to life across her arms and her heart fluttered a little too quickly within her chest. What if Tate only wanted to be friends? He was good at that—being friends—but what if that was as far as their relationship would ever go? And what if he had a girlfriend back in Missouri? Had she even thought to ask? No. Foster hardly ever asked him anything about how his life was before she’d spun into it and sucked him up and away to Oregon. Sure, they talked, but was she ever really saying anything or was she just going on and on about stuff that didn’t really matter in order to avoid talking about anything that did actually matter? And what if she asked him out and he said yes and they had a horrible time and ended up ruining their friendship forever?
Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. This is a mistake. A gigantic mistake.
Worry pitted Foster’s stomach.
I bet if I ripped off this dress and ran downstairs in nothing but my leopard boy shorts and T-shirt bra that Tate would just look at me with those obnoxiously gorgeous blue eyes and smile with those stupid perfect teeth and then just go on talking about how much he likes to listen to the chickens cluck or something else really sickeningly charming.
This was one of those times when Foster really hated not having a phone. She wanted nothing more than to text Sabine in all caps to let her know how mad she was that Sabine, her only friend, made her realize that she had some ridiculous tweenie crush on the guy she had to spend the foreseeable future with.
Thanks a lot, friend.
“Foster?”
Tate! When had he gotten home?
Heavy footsteps clomped on the stairs leading up to her room.
And he’s coming up here. Oh, god. Okay. Just breathe. She fluffed the ends of her hair and gave her armpits a final sniff. Of course he wants to go out with me. I mean, look at me. I’m pretty positive I’m attractive. And I’m nice enough. She shook her head. Okay, maybe I’m not super nice, but I’m nicer to Tate than I am to any other guy. Is that a redeeming quality?
Tate knocked lightly against the door. “You in there?”
Foster’s legs carried her to the door before her mind finished building a case as to why she should slip back into her sweatpants and pretend this whole date idea never happened.
“Hi.” She opened the door, a gentle gust dancing in the soft waves of her hair as it wrapped around her chest and ever so gracefully twirled and lifted the ends of her skirt. Man, was she learning how to make an entrance.
“Whoa. I—You—” Tate tugged at the neck of his shirt. “A dress.”
Foster tilted her chin. “Thanks.” She grinned, deciding that a dress had to be short for you are amazing, and I don’t have a girlfriend back in Nowheresville, and I’d be honored to be your best friend and boyfriend.
“So, are you busy, like,” Foster glanced at her wrist as if her freckles could somehow show her the time. “Nowish?”
“No, no, definitely not. Finn said something about seeing me later, but I can tell him that I’m doing something else. I mean, if you want to, you know,” he coughed before clearing his throat. “Do something, or something.”
Foster couldn’t help but blush. He was tripping all over himself, and not in his normal Tate-ish way. This was different. He was nervous. And that made two of them.
“Actually, Sabine told me about this place just down the road. The same one where you get those spaceship squashes. I guess they have food and there’s a live band and they set up a dance floor. They were going to come by and get us so we could go on a—”
“Double date!” Tate’s cheeks flushed bubblegum pink.
Foster smiled. “So you want to?”
“Yes!” His cheeks were blazing now, and Foster felt a little foolish for ever turning this whole double date invite into such a huge thing.
* * *
Foster crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and then finally settled on placing her hands in her lap as she sat at the picnic table with Sabine while they waited for Finn and Tate to return with glasses of what Sabine called the world’s best marionberry lemonade.