Guard

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When I woke the next morning I had breakfast, courtesy of Abigail, and washed up in the sink. I passed by Gideon, offering a small smile and nod on my way to meet Shelby, tapping lightly on their bedroom door before entering just as she tugged the sleeves of her dress down.

"Day one and you're already picking out dresses without me. At this rate, I'll be useless by the end of the week." I laughed, taking a seat on the stool in front of her vanity. I tucked a few strands of my wiley hair into the bun secured at the top of my head, nabbing a bobby pin from a glass container to hold them into place.

"Well since we'll be doing other clothing-related things today I figured I'd give you a small break from it this morning." She replied, the tip of her nose slightly red when she turned around.

It was a tell that she'd been crying, one that I'd recognize no matter how long it had been. "Is everything okay?" I asked.

She flitted a hand through the air. "It's nothing, Gideon and I are always more stressed when it's close to time for another run. Unfortunately that means we snap at each other a little more since we're together a lot." She leaned around me to look in the mirror, making sure her eyes didn't appear teary. "Anyway, we have a busy few days ahead to prepare for the ball. We'll run a few errands in town and then I have your friends finishing their first day of work around three. We'll stop by to visit them around that time before returning for the evening." She confirmed. I was grateful that she kept her word, glancing at the clock to see that we had five hours until then.

We stopped by the same seamstress' shop we'd visited the day before, Shelby doing a last fitting of the gown that was being crafted for the ball. The shop workers pulled at the strings of the corseted back, showing me the easiest way to lace the piece for when I would dress her. Even before, Shelby could pull off anything, timelessly stunning in the emerald dress that made her look befitting of her royal title.

When the final touches were made and the delivery date was set, she moved on to thumbing through the designer's sketchbook while I peered out the front-store window, observing the few people who mulled along the street.

"I think for Alena we'll go with something like this design. It's sure to be cold so maybe in velvet. Alena what do you think?" She asked, pulling me back from the trance I'd been fixated in, watching a girl and boy with their hands crossed and holding the other's while they leaned away to spin around in circles.

I moved so that I was standing next to her, peering over my shoulder to where the shop owner was already pulling out samples of velvet fabric. Shelby was immediately drawn to the cloth in a deep burgundy, raising her brows for me to affirm the choice.

"I'm sure it'll be beautiful." I smiled at the owner. It was obvious that she worked hard, confirming the drop off date for my dress in a small notebook she kept.

We went by the hair salon, Shelby contemplating styles for the ball and insisting that we make a girl's day of the morning before, leading to me listening to the stylist ogle over how she could bring my hair back to life. After receiving word that Shelby was in town, an old man who ran a sandwich shop invited us in for lunch. We ate and drank lemonade while she told me about his former life as a tenured professor in the science department who had a secret dream to one day live a simpler life where he owned a deli.

I didn't have a way to check the time and wondered how close we were to three o'clock, estimating that it was sometime past noon based on the sun's position. "There was a new calf born yesterday that I want to go see." She carried on with a pep in her step as we walked to the farm.

After so much time on the outside, looking for safety and comfort, it was difficult to accept a place where these things were possible. Still, being with Shelby, in what felt like a smaller version of the downtown area of the city I grew up in, made it a little easier. Touching a baby cow might have helped too.

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