All Plum characters are the property of Janet Evanovich. Rated M for language and inappropriate, very public displays of (Ranger) affection. Definitely Babe in the end. All mistakes, errors and non sequiturs are mine alone. Chapter heading quotes from Brooks & Dunn.

Nothing About You

Part Three

"I love your attitude . . ."

The interior of the store was a calm, quiet oasis of understated elegance. Warm lights highlighted fashionable dresses, tops and skirts while sales associates dressed in tasteful coordinates glided past displays searching for the perfect accessories for their clients. Classical music, piped throughout the store, added to the peaceful atmosphere.

Steph blinked. Nope. She tried again, holding her eyes scrunched shut for a full five count before whipping the eyelids open so fast they flipped like cheap window shades. No dice. The carpeting was burnt orange, the walls were beige, pink and teal and the music was, well . . . Muzak. Really, really bad Muzak.

"Mary Lou—"

Her best friend held up a hand. "Stop right there. No whining. None." She gave Steph a Burg Mom look. "Quit being such a prima donna."

"What do you mean 'prima donna'? I always fly first class when I'm shopping for clothes. This," Steph waved an impotent hand at the scene in front of her. A grey-haired, matronly sales associate eyed a hopeful teenaged girl while the mother fluttered around in the background. Dresses with enough frills and lace to satisfy even a Burg mother's heart were selected and discarded with ruthless precision. "I . . . you . . . this . . ." She stopped and tried again. "You can't be serious!"

"Think about Joe," said Mary Lou. "Think about the dinner and the foreign police commissioner and how much is riding on it. All of that, weighed against a couple of hours finding something that makes you look demure, sensible, and normal. Come on, Steph. Make the sacrifice."

She gritted her teeth, then relaxed. "I hate it, but you're right. I will hate every single minute I have to be in here. I will hate it while I'm standing in the shower trying to sterilize all of the sensible cooties that are going to follow me home. They're like little bloodsuckers that you have to pick off one by one, and if you miss any, they multiply like fleas. Then I'll have to start all over again."

"Sit beside Val at the next family dinner. All of your sensible cooties will fall in love with her and leave you like yesterday's wilted cabbage." Mary Lou grabbed her upraised hand and tugged. "Let's go, Steph. Paste a smile on your face and suck it up. This will all be over soon enough."

Steph tried to do as Mary Lou said, but the expression on her face felt like a frozen grimace of unspeakable horror, more suited to a medieval torture chamber than a dress shop. It probably looked worse, judging by the slightly widened eyes and flared nostrils of the sales associate Mary Lou zeroed in on. The woman was younger by two decades than anyone else, and her nervousness made her seem even younger.

"Welcome to A La Mode," she said, striving for calm serenity and failing miserably as a muscle beneath her eye twitched. "What can I help you find today?"

"My friend needs a dress for evening wear. Something sensible and conservative." Mary Lou sailed into control like the QEII.

The sales associate smiled, the practiced and gracious expression of an accomplished woman of society. "White tie, black tie, or cocktail?"

"Uh—" Steph floundered, trying to think if Joe had even mentioned it. "Sensible, tasteful and low-key," she said, hoping one of the words would work.

The associate's smile faltered, but she bravely propped it up. The strain was starting to show around her eyes and the twitch accelerated to double time. "Is it in town or in the City?"

"Here. The Chief of Police is hosting a dinner for a foreign commissioner." Mary Lou still hadn't broken a sweat. She reached back without looking and snagged Steph by the sleeve as she tried to fade out the door. "We're looking for something on the upper side of semi-formal. No cleavage, arm coverage and darker colors."

There was a moment's brief hesitation. Then the associate nodded briskly, once more on solid ground. "I think I know just the thing. It will look darling on you."

She set off for the back of the store like a drum major at the head of the Trenton Fourth of July parade. Steph was all for letting her lead; in fact, she was feeling more about Tail End Charlie-ing it out to the parking lot. Maybe I could wash Mare's minivan. With a toothbrush. Then steam clean the floor mats and seat cushions and . . ."

Mary Lou's hand closed over her arm like a vise. With an air of outward calm, she hauled Steph around. "Don't even think about it. Whatever happened to the girl who wanted to fly? This is your chance."

"So why do I feel like I'm about to jump holding a cinder block for ballast?" muttered Steph as she sulkily allowed Mary Lou to pull her after the sales associate. They rounded a display, and Steph automatically dug in her heels as she stared at the mauve print dress the woman was holding. "No. Hell, no. No way in freaking hell!"

"It's absolutely you, dear," the woman purred. There was an unholy gleam in her eyes, like a shark scenting blood in the water. "Think of how adorable you'll be."

"Mare," whispered Steph frantically. "I can't wear that. It has a freaking huge bow in the middle of the chest!"

Her best friend didn't reply right away, and Steph nearly jerked her off her feet. "Mary Lou!"

"Oh, all right." Mary Lou waved the dress away. "I don't think the bow is going to work on Steph. I like the color, though."

The sales associate flipped the dress around and studied it. "You're right. The single bow is a little too difficult to balance, especially when the shoulders are crooked." She slid it back on the rack and ran her finger down the row. "Let me see. No. No, not that one. Ah, here it is."

Triumphantly, she pulled out a dress that was a deep, vivid wine color. It had a lace insert yoke and a frilled high collar tied with a thin silky cord. Two bows graced this dress, one for each shoulder. They flopped around like wilted vines as the sales associate extolled the virtues of the design.

Steph stared at it, her mind blank with horror. The dress was the kind she never thought she would ever consider. Even last week, she would have dismissed it as too old, too sensible. Now she was thinking about wearing the damn thing. No, she knew she was going to wear it. Like Mare said, she had to think of Joe and how much it would mean to him. Think of Joe, she repeated to herself. Even as she did, even as she tried to reconcile herself to the dress and its complete coverage of everything from neck to knee and shoulder to wrist, Steph couldn't help wondering if maybe she should have borrowed one of her mother's dresses and made her public humiliation complete.

"I'll take it," she said. Within moments she found herself in possession of the wine-colored dress as the sales associate disappeared to find the perfect accessories. Steph knew the shoes would match the dress exactly and have a perfectly sensible heel. There would be a clutch purse and maybe an earring and necklace set. She would take all of them, she would wear them, and she would make it through the evening. By the time Joe drove her home, she would be so thoroughly sensible that she'd head straight to the kitchen and start baking. Or join a bridge club. The only blessing was that the dress had no pockets, and her gun wouldn't fit into a clutch. No gun, ergo, no danger of her shooting the first, second or third person to comment on how sensible she looked.

Life would be perfect.