Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Kinsley
The boutique Daisy and I are at smells of leather and mothballs, with a hint of laundry detergent. Although the smell reminds me of an old bookstore, the store is relatively new. Daisy says the previous store sold all leather products. It went out of business last year, replaced by the boutique.
It's very modern. The theme is white with splashes of lavender and dark green. Thick white floating shelves line the walls, decorated with a variety of tropical plants and woven baskets. Rustic oak flooring reflects the pendant lighting above. Mannequins line the store's front window. They're wearing a range of outfits. Shorts with a boyfriend-style cardigan. A cute floral summer dress. Jeans with a tank top. Short shorts with a knotted T-shirt.
We've been here for two hours and I've already tried on half the store.
Anything I try on doesn't meet Daisy's expectations. She has specifics for a country-themed bar. I'm still not sure what those are.
Our taste in fashion is very different. Where she like short shorts and tank tops, I'm more of a T-shirt and mid-thigh shorts type of woman. I prefer clothing that is less revealing because of my scars. The scar on my knee is inevitable. I've gotten used to that one. It's the one across my stomach or on my upper thigh. The scar on the left side of my ribcage.
Although I'm making improvements, the physical scars that have mutilated by body are still too fresh. I can feel the pain I experienced. Until I passed out, I felt every ounce of pain. After my time at the hospital, I could feel the lingering ache for months. Sometimes I still can.
Adjusting the brown off-shoulder sweater, I step out to display my hundredth outfit.
"Well, what do you think?" I lift my arms and shrug.
Daisy stands before me. Her blonde hair is styled in soft curls that cascade past her shoulders. She has her arms crossed and a skeptical expression on her face. She's calculating my outfit.
Several seconds pass.
Daisy shakes her head. "Scrap that outfit, darlin'. The dance floor isn't made for high heels."
I glance down at my shoes, shirt, and shorts, frowning. I'm wearing the same shorts as the mannequin. "They're wedges."
"Darlin'," she insists again. "You need a pair of these bad boys."
A pair of cowgirl boots lands next to me with a thump.
Frowning, I lean down and pick them up. They're heavy in my grip. I've never worn a pair of these boots. Noel, Jack, and Daisy are the only ones who wear them. Pairing boots with a dress or pair of short shorts seems strange.
I suppress a sigh, glancing at the boots. Perhaps I'm biased. I love my Converse.
