“Not so much a makeover as a new wardrobe,” I said. I took a bite of the pretzel I’d just bought from a mall kiosk, marveling at the way its chemical deliciousness melted on my tongue. I had no idea what actually went into those pretzels. It was probably better that way.
“A new wardrobe?”
“Yeah. He needs new clothes pretty urgently. That’s why I asked you to join us. You’re a man and I’m not. You’ll know more about men’s fashion than I do.”
In truth, Sam didn’t know more about men’s fashion than many people. His approach to clothes hadn’t really evolved past what he’d worn in college, except for the suits he wore to work. I mostly asked Sam to join us at the last minute in the hopes he’d serve as a buffer between Frederick and me as we picked out clothes and he tried them on. Because now that I was at the mall, I realized it was one thing to tell your extremely handsome, off-limits, vampire roommate that he needed to dress differently—and an entirely different thing to actually take your extremely handsome, off-limits, vampire roommate to the mall, help him pick out clothes, and then evaluate how they all looked on his gorgeous body as you helped him make decisions.
Especially given how our Instagram lesson had ended.
It had been two days, and I still wasn’t certain what his reaction to my bikini picture meant. Not for lack of thinking about it endlessly from every possible angle, of course.
I’d thought about it at work. While trying to work on my submission for the art show. While trying to fall asleep at night, hyper-aware that he was awake and in the next room over from me, going about his nightly routine.
I’d spent more time than I wanted to admit to myself reliving exactly how he’d looked at me before storming out of the room—his eyes flashing with, what? Anger? Jealousy? Or something else?
We hadn’t spoken since then, save for a handful of notes back and forth coordinating this shopping trip. If I was going to survive two hours of looking at Frederick in jeans and Henleys, I needed my best friend with me.
“I thought your roommate dressed well, though.” I could hear the teasing smirk in Sam’s voice as I leaned against a large white pillar bearing a perfume ad on one side and a floor plan of the mall on the other. “I thought he was a dreamboat.”
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment over the situation and mild annoyance with my friend. “He does. He is. But . . .” I bit my lip, trying to think through how to describe Frederick’s dresses-like-he-lived-one-hundred-years-ago problem without also outing him as a vampire.
And then Frederick chose that moment to stride into view, sparing me from having to say anything at all. As always, he was dressed like he was on his way to meet Jane Austen, with an expensive-looking dark gray three-piece wool suit and black shoes that had been polished to a shine.
He’d left the cravat at home, which was a good thing. But I’d been hoping he’d leave his suit jacket at home for this errand, too. It would only get in the way when he tried things on. That said, he looked incredible—even if more out of place than ever at this suburban mall.
One glance at Sam told me he agreed with my conclusion. Frederick looked good. It was the first time he’d ever seen Frederick in person, and I could all but feel my best friend warring with himself as he fought to keep his eyes trained on Frederick’s perfect, chiseled face, rather than let them trail over his broad shoulders and at the way his perfectly tailored clothing fit his body.
Frederick nimbly stepped around a clutch of teenagers chatting animatedly to one another with an ease I wouldn’t have expected of him, and then joined us where we stood by the mall floor plan. He looked at Sam, stopping just short of turning his back on me completely. The heated intensity in his eyes from the other night was gone, replaced with a pleasant, blank expression. To see him, you’d never imagine that two nights ago he’d completely lost his shit at a picture of me in a bikini.
He had, though.
If the way he was standing there, avoiding my gaze, was any guide, he didn’t want to unpack what any of that meant just then.
Come to think of it—neither did I.
“Hello. I am Frederick J. Fitzwilliam,” he said, extending a hand for Sam to shake.
Sam took it eagerly. I had to stifle a laugh in my palm. Who was this person, and what did he do with my friend who’d been so opposed to me moving back in with Frederick?
“Nice to meet you, Frederick,” he said. “I’m Sam.”
“It is nice to meet you as well. Cassie told me you will be joining us tonight to help me select clothing.” Frederick gestured to me without looking at me, his eyes still trained on Sam. A wave of irrational disappointment went through me when I realized he was just as glad to have a human buffer for this as I was.
“I hope I can help,” Sam said, too cheerfully.
“As do I. I know little about modern fashion.” He gestured vaguely to himself. “As I’m sure you can see.”
By this point Sam had completely lost the battle on checking out the way Frederick filled out his suit. He was openly staring at him now. He swallowed hard, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I’m sure you know . . . some things.”
“I do not,” Frederick insisted. If he noticed how not-surreptitiously Sam was ogling him, he showed no sign of it. “I trust Cassie when she tells me I must dress more casually as I go about my daily activities. But it has been my lifelong instinct to dress as formally as possible for every occasion.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “You can’t wear a suit like that to, like—the grocery store. Or to take out the garbage.”
Frederick sighed and shook his head. “As it happens, I wear this exact suit to take out the garbage every Wednesday evening.”
“And that’s a problem,” I reminded him, inserting myself into the conversation for the first time since Frederick showed up. Frederick still wasn’t facing me, but his entire body tensed when I spoke, as if just the sound of my voice was enough to cause him anxiety. I ignored the confusing jumble of emotions that elicited in me and pressed on. “If you want to . . . be more comfortable, you should wear T-shirts and jeans occasionally.”
I raised my eyebrows meaningfully, so he’d know that be more comfortable was code for less like a centuries-old vampire. “You’re right.” Frederick’s look of resigned determination made him look like someone had just volunteered him to chaperone a middle school dance or told him he’d been elected to the board of directors of a homeowners association—and that while he’d rather do anything else, he was too honorable to back out now.
I turned to Sam. “Should we start at Gap, or somewhere else?” It had been a while since I’d been shopping anywhere that wasn’t online, but I seemed to remember Gap was good at this mall.