Imagine that. The love of his life, the woman he’d married, and he’d given up, what . . . six years with her? No. Almost seven. The thought nearly felled him. If he hadn’t been a condescending prick at that party, they might have had seven more years.

His heart was racing. He could’ve had almost a decade more with her.

“Hello and welcome,” came a voice. “Are you looking for anything in particular tonight?”

Oh. He’d gone in, apparently. “I need some clothes,” he said, and his voice sounded strange.

“Great!” the man said. He was young and well dressed, his hair in a perfect swoop off his forehead. “My name’s Radley. And you are?”

“Joshua.”

“What are you looking for, Joshua?”

He had no idea how to answer the question. “Just . . . everything, I guess.”

The answer caused Radley to brighten. “No problem! What size do you usually take? Do you have colors that you like? This is quite . . . cheerful.” He gestured at Josh’s shirt, which was, he just realized, a shirt Mrs. Kim had bought him in Korea the last time she went—garish red-and-yellow swirls. Cargo pants. Birkenstock sandals with socks.

He probably should’ve looked in the mirror before leaving the house.

Somewhere, Lauren was laughing. It almost made him smile.

“Whatever you think,” Josh said. “I don’t have the best taste in clothes.”

“Thank God you said that so I didn’t have to pretend.” Radley grinned. “Okay, let’s get started.” He began plucking things off the racks, a few shirts here, pants there, jeans, a sweater, more pants, another shirt. Josh trailed behind him, agreeing with everything, seeing nothing.

Seven extra years. He could’ve been with Lauren for seven extra years, but he’d been a complete and utter asshole.

“These pants are really on trend,” the guy was saying. “You can cuff them to be extra hipster, if you must. See the pretty print underneath? Or just leave as is for a more conservative look. I’d French-tuck this shirt, maybe add a vest or a grandpa sweater. This hat would make it supercute for date night. Here, why don’t you start trying things on, and I’ll grab whatever else I think you might like.” He hung up a dozen articles of clothing in a dressing room, looking pleased, then went back to the racks for more.

Josh closed the dressing room door behind him and looked at the mirror. Lauren had coached him in dressing once they’d been dating a little while, but he’d reverted to his old clothes since her death. They predated her, and somehow it was easier to wear things that weren’t attached to her memory.

He really did look like a dork.

He pulled on a pair of cotton pants in a shade of orange—coral, Lauren would’ve said—a blue T-shirt, a blue-and-yellow-printed button-down.