Page 34 of Big Girl Panties

"Maybe I am," Brooke said. "Or maybe I'm just terrified."

"Take a chance, babe," she said softly. "You might be surprised."

An ache bloomed in my chest, a desperate need to see Brooke's face, to read the emotions in her eyes. My hand twitched towards the door, every fiber of my being urging me to burst in and sweep her into my arms.

"I have to go," the woman sighed dramatically. "But you should go, have fun, and stop letting Captain Douchebag live rent-free in your head."

Captain Douchebag, I liked this woman already. I raised my hand to knock, ready to make my grand entrance, when the door flew open.

The blonde's eyebrows shot up, her mouth forming a small 'o' as her gaze darted from my face to my chest, then back again. "You must be Matt," she whispered. I nodded.

A slow smile spread across her face like she'd just won the matchmaking lottery. "Perfect. She's having a fashion crisis in there," she pointed toward what I assumed was Brooke's bedroom. "Can you give her your honest opinion of the dress she's wearing? And by honest, I mean tell her she looks amazing, because she does. She won't believe me because apparently I'm contractually obligated as her best friend to lie about these things."

My eyebrows did their own little dance of confusion. "I can do that, but should I just storm her bedroom like some kind of romantic home invader?"

"I'll be your wingwoman," she smirked, practically bouncing on her toes. She slammed the door behind me and gestured for me to follow. "Brooke!" she called out in a sing-song voice.

"I thought you were leaving, Davina!" Brooke called back, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Are you decent? Because I'm bringing in backup!"

"Define decent!"

"Good enough!" Davina charged through the bedroom door like a woman on a mission. "Matt is here to settle the Great Dress Debate of today!"

I followed her through the doorway and promptly forgot how breathing worked. Brooke's eyes met mine through the full-length mirror, and time did that cheesy slow-motion thing that happens in movies right before someone falls off a cliff or falls in love.

"Davina!" Brooke spun around, eyes wide. "What the hell?"

"You're welcome," Davina said sweetly. "I'm like a fairy godmother, but with better timing."

Brooke rolled her eyes. "More like a meddling…"

"Matchmaker? I prefer romantic strategist."

I had to clear my throat twice because, apparently, seeing Brooke in that yellow dress had short-circuited my vocal cords. "Wow," I managed, which in retrospect wasn't exactly Shakespeare, but it was honest.

The dress hugged her like it had been specifically designed by someone who understood the concept of perfection.

Brooke stood in front of the mirror with her back to me. My breath caught as I took in the sight of her. The yellow fabric hugged her curves perfectly, the hem swaying gently around her knees. Sunlight from the window caught in her hair, showing the lighter highlights. "Brooke, you look amazing."

"I’m going to change into something less attention-grabbing," she said, tugging at the hem.

"Why?"

Brooke's shoulders hunched forward slightly, her arms crossing over her midsection. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes darting around the room, landing anywhere but on me. "I don't think this dress was made for my body type."

"What?" My brows pulled tightly together, and I moved to her before I even realized what I was doing.

"The dress doesn't fit right, and it's probably too much for a backyard BBQ. I look like I'm trying too hard, and…"

I placed my hands on her hips, cutting off her spiral into a fashion-induced panic. Our eyes locked in the mirror, and Davina's presence faded. I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear, my breath warm against her skin. "This dress," I said, letting my hands trace the curve of her waist, "fits you like it was hand-tailored by angels who specialize in making people look absolutely stunning."

The corners of her mouth twitched upward like they were fighting against her natural instinct to argue. She bit her lower lip, which should probably be illegal because it was ridiculously distracting, and her fingers kept worrying at the hem of her dress like she was trying to negotiate with it.

"Are you sure?"

My jaw clenched as I watched that familiar shadow of doubt cross her features. It was the same look she'd had when she'd told me about her ex, and it made me want to kill him.