Sara’s hands glide across the tops of my shoulders and tug the fabric of the sleeves. Juliet’s Nurse’s dress does fit better now that she’s altered it to accommodate my long arms.
“That feel okay?” she asks around the pins she holds between her lips. Her brown eyes study the bodice, the waist, the cuffs, while I study the downy hair at the back of her neck that didn’t make it into her ponytail.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “Fine.”
I’m weightless as she turns me, my thighs heating, praying she’ll find something else to fix.
Cynthia Hamill 