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Sage swallowed the lump in her throat, yanked the curtain open, and stepped out.
Hallie took one look at her and broke into a satisfied smile. “See?”
“It’s okay,” Sage muttered, tugging at the hem of the flannel.
“You love it.”
“It’s okay.”
“Honey, I’ve been dressing women for thirty years. You love it.”
Hallie stepped closer, warm and unstoppable, and cupped Sage’s face in both hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. “And you are stunning. Those curves? That beautiful figure? Those hips?”
She gave Sage a gentle little shake, eyes sparkling. “Sugar, other women wish they had the body Sage Thompson’s walking around with.” Then, lower, conspiratorial: “Not to mention that booty…”
My what? Sage thought a little stunned.
She stepped back with a wicked little smile. “Don’t you dare hide it. Now—underclothes, socks, panties.”
She was already moving again, waving Sage to follow. “And you need a coat. I’ve got a long black duster that’s going to make you look like you ride to school on a black horse, and I will not apologize for that.”
CAL
From the armchair, Cal watched the kids.
There were three of them — a boy of maybe six with serious eyes, a little girl about four who moved like a hummingbird, and a chubby toddler who treated falling down as a temporary lifestyle choice. Their mothers were a few aisles over in outerwear, talking in that low rhythm of women who could multitask life itself. The kids had discovered the basket of toys Hallie kept near the big chair for exactly this reason.
The six-year-old had claimed the Legos and was deep in concentration, trying to build something that looked like it might fly. He kept running out of flat pieces for the base. Cal watched him try three different configurations, each one discarded with a small, frustrated huff.
“You want a longer base,” Cal said quietly.
The boy’s head snapped up. His eyes went wide the way kids’ eyes always did when they first registered Bear’s size — that quick, instinctive assessment. But children didn’t carry the same weight of caution adults did. After a second, the boy just looked at Cal, then at the Legos, then back at Cal.
“How do I do it?”
Cal lowered himself from the armchair to the floor with the same care he used for everything — no sudden movements, no looming. He folded his large frame cross-legged in front of the toy basket, knees creaking just a little, and studied the half-built creation.
“You’ve got two four-by-two flats,” he said, voice low and steady. “Connect them long-ways. There’s your base.”
The boy tried it. Concentration. Doubt. Then that bright, sudden spark of it works. His whole face lit up.
“It works!”
“It works,” Cal confirmed, the corner of his mouth twitching.
The four-year-old abandoned her blocks and plopped down right beside him like she’d been invited. The toddler gave up on walking entirely, crawled over, and used Cal’s thigh as a personal climbing wall, little fists grabbing denim and pulling himself up with determined grunts.
Cal didn’t comment. He just shifted his arm to make sure the toddler didn’t slide off.
For the next twelve minutes, he helped the six-year-old turn the pile of Legos into something that vaguely resembled an airplane. The kid had strong opinions about wing placement. Cal respected every single one. The four-year-old kept handing him random pieces like they were sacred offerings. The toddler mostly chewed on a big red Duplo and watched everything from his new favorite perch on Cal’s leg, occasionally patting Bear’s knee like he was reassuring the giant that he was doing a good job.
Cal sat there on the worn rug, surrounded by small bodies and even smaller hands, the warm weight of the toddler against him, the quiet chatter of the kids mixing with the distant murmur of their mothers. Something deep and rusty in his chest pulsed— a kind of feeling he didn’t have too often.
He glanced across the store toward the dressing rooms.
Sage was standing in front of the mirror in the new outfit, looking equal parts stunned and pissed off at her own reflection. Hallie was talking a mile a minute, gesturing wildly. Sage’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes suspiciously bright.
Cal felt the corner of his mouth lift again, slow and helpless.
