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“Are you sure about this one?” I ask the attendant.

“You look stunning,” she assures me.

“All right…”

But when I walk out wearing sky-high heels and the tiniest black cocktail dress in the store, Noah nearly swallows his tongue.

I resist the urge to tug at the hem, noting that I’ll probably need a bikini wax if I wear this one tonight.

“Are we sure this is necessary?” I ask him.

Noah opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His eyes are on my legs, and he can’t seem to look away. The man has been struck mute, and I won’t lie—it’s flattering.

I snap in front of his face. “Hey, focus.”

A smile dances over his face, quickly becoming a full-blown smirk. He meets my eyes, trying and failing to look innocent. “I like that one.”

“If I sneeze, it will become a tank top.”

The attendant snorts out a laugh and then clears her throat, trying to cover it up.

“Maybe something a little longer,” Noah suggests, rubbing his hand over his grinning mouth.

I walk back into the dressing room, keeping my legs pressed together so I don’t flash anyone while making my escape.

Several minutes later, I emerge in a white sundress. It’s strappy, with bands of fabric that crisscross over my back, and the skirt is just short enough that I think it could be described as flirty. I can even sit down in it without running the risk of getting a fine for public indecency. I mean, sure, it’s low-cut enough I won’t be able to bend over without risking a wardrobe malfunction, but as long as we’re not playing mini golf on the yacht, I think I’ll be safe.

“I like this one,” I declare. “And look—it has pockets.”

I demonstrate, grinning.

“Just what every cocktail dress needs,” Noah says, returning my smile.

“Do you like it?”

“You look beautiful.”

I turn to the attendant. “I’d like this one.”

“Along with the shoes and accessories,” Noah adds.

“Of course,” the woman responds, quietly elated. “Change back into your clothes, and I’ll package everything up for you and meet you at the register. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait? Espresso? Champagne?”

Noah looks at me, but I shake my head, terrified I’ll spill something on the rug. It looks expensive, just like everything else in the shop.

“That will be three thousand two hundred forty-eight dollars and twenty-seven cents,” the attendant says once we’ve all converged at the register.

It’s a good thing I didn’t take her up on the espresso because I’m pretty sure I would spit it all over her.

But Noah doesn’t even blink. He just hands her his card.

I clutch his arm, subtly turning away from the woman as I hiss, “You can’t spend that much on a dress!”

“Why not?” His face is serious, but his eyes are smiling.

“Because I can buy the same thing for a hundred bucks at a mall.Twentyif we found the right thrift store.”

“Piper.”