The boutique's bell chimes as we enter, releasing a burst of air-conditioned air that carries the scent of new fabric and expensive perfume. Camilla, Mia, and Marcus sweep in beside me, their energy infectious enough to momentarily quiet the storm of thoughts about Nate swirling in my head—our raw conversation yesterday, the promise of tomorrow's Jimmy Eat World show hanging between us like an unspoken question.

Marcus, ever the force of nature, immediately takes command of our dress-shopping mission. His eyes light up as he prowls the racks, fingers dancing across fabrics with the precision of a surgeon.

"My girls," he declares, already pulling dresses in jewel tones and shimmer, "are going to be the absolute queens of this gala."

The next few hours blur into a kaleidoscope of silk, sequins, and Marcus's running commentary. Every time one of us emerges from behind the velvet curtain of the changing room, he's ready with a verdict that ranges from, "Girl, that dress was made for you" to "I wouldn't wear that to clean my bathroom." His dramatic flair transforms what could have been an exhausting afternoon into something that feels almost magical.

By the time Marcus whisks Mia away for her fifth round of trying on dresses, my feet are screaming for mercy. I sink into the boutique's cream-colored sofa, the plush velvet embracing me like an old friend. Camilla joins me, the cushions dipping under her weight as she settles in close enough for our shoulders to brush.

"So…" she drawls, her voice pitched low and conspiratorial. "What really happened with you and Nate in the kitchen before I walked in?"

The memory hits me with startling clarity—the warmth of his breath, the way his fingers had trembled against my skin. My neck floods with heat.

"God, I wish I knew," I admit, matching her hushed tone. "One minute he's laying his heart bare, and the next he's trying to forget it ever happened. Then earlier today, he's all casual about going to Jimmy Eat World together tomorrow. Just the two of us. As friends." The last word tastes bitter on my tongue.

Camilla's eyebrow arches skeptically. "Why are boys so dumb? Do you honestly think 'just friends' is even possible anymore?"

Before I can dive into that emotional minefield, Marcus materializes like he's been summoned, dramatically fanning himself with a wooden hanger.

"That boy," he announces, "is completely loco for you. He's just drowning in his own feelings like a cat in a bathtub. Classic man behavior—painful to watch, really."

A laugh bubbles up from my chest despite myself, but Camilla's expression remains serious, her dark eyes holding mine.

"I think he's just scared, Nora," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "But don't let his fear become your prison. If he doesn't get his act together soon, he's going to spend a long time regretting it."