After a moment, Edward traces a hand over the metal rod above it, not looking at Bella, and asks, "So, are you single?"
"Uh, yeah," she says slowly. All of her friends know about her spotty dating history, especially Emmett, so she hadn't even thought that Edward might not. "You didn't—"
"I thought maybe, but I didn't want to assume," Edward says quickly. He meets her eyes and smirks. "Anyways, so this is kind of like a 'What not to Wear' intervention."
She laughs. "Well, I still can't believe you actually own a pink shirt, next thing I know you'll be telling me you walk around like some wanna-be frat boy with a popped collar."
"I was never in a fraternity and pink is a good color on me!" he says indignantly.
"No offense, Edward, but whoever told you that was blind and stupid, desperate for a commission, or hates you. Maybe even all three."
He glares at her. "It was my mom!"
There's a long, terrifying second where she thinks she might have just crossed a very bad line and she might need to run for her life, but then Edward's mouth twitches and he bursts out laughing, bumping Bella's shoulder with his own.
"I did give her an ironing board for Christmas last year," he admits, ducking his head. "She was probably trying to find a way to get back at me." He gives Bella a stern look. "No more talking smack about my mom, though, or I'll kick your ass."
"Deal," she agrees easily. "Now would you pick some shirts that aren't loud and exciting? Maybe some that say, 'I'm just here to make this dork look good'?"
Edward sticks out his tongue, and turns back to the racks.