The Right Fit

You loved the smell of mothballs, Febreeze, and mysterious incenses. You loved the thrill of discovering treasures in piles of trash. You loved wearing something unique no one else could possibly have in their closet.

You hated thrift shopping.

"Come on," your friend, Angel, protested, "you always find something amazing!"

Easy for them to say, they're shaped like a mannequin and everything fits them.

"It's just... nothing works for my shape," you tried to explain. "Even trying things on is an exercise in humiliation."

"This new shop has something for everyone! I promise. The owner is super chill, I talked to him and told him all about you."

"You didn't! I can't even shop in shameful anonymity now?!?" You could have killed them except they did get you a half-off discount you couldn't resist.

"Do you want to go togeth-"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT. I'll go, I'll make pleasant small talk with the shopkeep, look at a few scarves, and be on my way."

"Don't do me any favors," Angel smirked.

"I won't." You were full of dread.

The next afternoon you bit the bullet and found the store off a downtown street. The window display was fun and as you opened the door you heard chill music. The store smelled good, like vanilla and leather. You didn't see anyone, but you heard some rustling from the back of the room. You spotted a rack of gorgeous prints and couldn't help but dive in.

You were elbow deep in paisley when you heard a voice behind you.

"Let me know if you need help finding anything, but it looks like you know what you're doing!"

You chuckled a little and turned your head to see two beautiful, dark eyes smiling at you, wide set and warm. You immediately blushed, looked at the blouse in your hand, and back at him. You smiled and said, "I guess I love thrift shopping!"

He laughed and walked over to the counter, but he kept shooting low glances in your direction with a smirk. You returned the favor.

He was taller than you, lean but not lanky, definitely strong from the way his button down stretched on his biceps. Impeccable style, of course, coordinating the shirt with simple blue jeans that hugged his ass beautifully.

You did your best not to stare and to stay on your mission when suddenly you saw them - honest to god vintage Pucci pants. You let out a squeak as loud as the print. You held them aloft like an archeological find.

"You found them! They'd be mine if they fit!" He laughed wistfully.

"I dunno..." you muttered, considering whether to even try them on.

"Do you want an opinion?" He came to the other side of the rack, a respectful distance, but maintaining that warm smile.

You took a chance. "What do you think, do I have a prayer?"

He took you in, eyes moving up and down your body, and you didn't mind. In fact you rather enjoyed his process.

"These are your pants. Give them a try, and I'll find some great blouses while you break them in." He pointed to the dressing rooms and got to work moving along the racks, pulling tops with excitement.

As you closed the door, your heart raced. The Pucci, this man, it was a lot of pressure. You held your breath as you pulled them up and voila. They not only fit, they looked incredible.

You looked incredible.

You almost ran out without a shirt on, you were so thrilled! You pulled your t-shirt back on and ran out exclaiming, "They're mine, you're right, they are my pants!"