The Shippers(30)

I had just put my hair up in a bun, and so my neck was totally exposed to the brush and tickle of every breath he took.

Which somehow felt like something I should put a stop to.

Right? This was Cooper!

But I didn’t.

“Is it possible this dress is too tight?” Cooper asked after a while.

“It’s a full size smaller than the smallest size I ever wear,” I confirmed.

“But you want me to zip it, anyway?”

“I do.”

“It’s really pretty snug,” Cooper said doubtfully.

“Just think of it like a corset.”

A funny pause, then: “You don’t want me to do that.”

Before I had time to process whatever energy that was, Cooper launched a new zipper strategy, and his hands started moving everywhere—waist, rib cage, hips—pressing and tugging as he tried to pull the two zipper sides close enough to slide them together.

Finally, I guess he decided to go down to go up.

He pulled the zipper south a few inches. But then he paused.

“What?” I prompted.

“Are you wearing cotton underpants?” he asked. “With unicorns on them?”

I glanced back. “Aren’t you?”

And then we settled right back into our usual dynamic as Cooper said, “I’m so tempted to give you a wedgie right now.”

I swatted at him. “Don’t. For real.”

He yanked up. His new strategy worked: the zipper gave in, and the pull slid up in a satisfying swoosh.

Perfect.

Success!

As long as I didn’t bend. Or sit. Or breathe.

I turned around to face Cooper triumphantly, like ta-da!

I think—though we may never know for sure—that his eyes widened at the sight of me. In a good way. Like I was surprisingly nice to look at.

I wanted to give him a high five, but I was afraid to reach up that far.

Next, Cooper said, “That’s the shortest dress I’ve ever seen. It looks like you forgot your pants.”

I ignored him and pointed at the high heels resting on my suitcase. “Can you hand me my shoes?”

“Those?” Cooper said, sounding doubtful.

“What?”

“You can’t walk in heels.”

“I can now,” I said.

Cooper didn’t buy it. “Did you get new feet?”

I flared my nostrils. “I’ve been practicing for a solid week.”

Cooper set the shoes down in front of me, and I held on to his shoulders for balance as I worked my feet into them. “Yes, they hurt like hell,” I said, answering his unspoken question. “But guess what? There’s an inverse relationship between how excruciating your heels are and how effective they are. That’s just math.”

Cooper looked like he was stifling a smile.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “You’re thinking I’m ridiculous.”

But Cooper shook his head. “I’m not thinking that.”

“You’re not?”

Cooper and I both turned to check out my whole look in the door mirror.

“I get it,” Cooper said, taking in the sight of me. “You need to look different today. You need to show everybody that you’ve grown up. You need to shock them into seeing something other than the kid who got chased by a schnauzer on the Vargases’ driveway.”

Well, that was surprisingly accurate. “I’d forgotten about the schnauzer.”

My shoe felt weird. Did I have a pebble in it already? I turned back and grabbed Cooper’s shoulder so I could pull it off.

“Another pebble?” Cooper asked.

“It’s fine.”

Cooper went on. “You were always—no offense—kind of a classically overlooked middle child. Ashley was always out there achieving and being perfect, and Pete was always in trouble for setting off fireworks. You flew under everybody’s radar. I always wondered if you felt invisible.”

What a question. I felt a funny pressure on my chest.

“You weren’t invisible to me, by the way,” Cooper added. “Just so you know.”

I took a long breath.

Cooper went on. “So, I get it. People see what they expect to see, and Finn probably expects to see that same seventh grader who used to draw hearts on the dirty windows of his Pathfinder. But you’re not that kid anymore. If he met you in a bar now, he’d ask for your number. And he’d be lucky to get it. He might not know that yet, but you do.”

Why did it feel so good to hear all that?

Cooper kept going. “You need to make him see you differently. You need to make it clear that you are someone he’d be crazy not to fall in love with. And you’ve only got eight days.”

“That’s exactly what I was about to explain to you,” I said, feeling something like awe. “Except you just said it way better.”

“I get it,” Cooper said. “I genuinely do.”

Then, while I was appreciating him, Cooper turned to grab what looked like a suit jacket lying on the foot of the bed. But guess what? It was a suit jacket with a vest.

“Not another vest,” I said.

Cooper shrugged. “It came with the suit.”

He slid it on—using his same blue heron moves.