I'm trying something slightly different in this story.

This story is as much about what happens inside Sophie inner thoughts as what happens around her.

Sophie's inner thoughts are shown in italics

I hope you enjoy seeing the evening unfold from her perspective.


- - -

Sophie wakes before her alarm. She always wakes first. She likes that.

Today is the day

Her eyes remain closed for a moment longer. Birds outside. A distant car. The faint shift of morning air through the window. She smiles.

Her phone lights up on the bedside table. She reaches for it, still warm from sleep. A neat row of messages and graphics fills the screen. "Happy International Women's Day." Purple borders. Serif fonts. Bold declarations.

She smiles again, this time inwardly.

Strength at 7:02am?
That feels slightly ambitious, even today

She scrolls. Women she admires. Earnest captions. One quote holds her attention longer than the others.

Strength isn't loud.
It's not a performance.
Sometimes it's just knowing yourself well enough to choose.

She reads it twice.

That's uncomfortably accurate

She sets the phone down and stretches her arms above her head.

Today is mine

The evening will be shared.

- - -

Late morning, she walks into her favourite nail bar.

I always feel more elegant with my nails done

She's dressed simply: skinny jeans stopping just above her ankles, black suede mid-heeled boots, a floaty silk blouse that catches the light when she moves. Effortless, but intentional.

She catches her reflection in the mirror.

You've got this look just right

Rows of colours line the wall.

Pink - elegant, familiar.
Silver - a memory of a winter party.
Blue - daring, perhaps unnecessarily so.

Her eyes settle on a deep, glossy red.

That will do nicely
Nude would be safer
Don't overcomplicate this

"This one."

As the first coat of plum red is brushed on, she feels the quiet pleasure of decision.

Red is confident. Red doesn't apologise.

Red was the right choice

- - -

After lunch with her best friend, Sophie arrives at the best hair salon in town. She was there only two weeks ago, but today feels like an exception.

She shrugs off her coat and is greeted by name.

"I thought I'd let you take over today," she says lightly.

"Trust me?" her stylist asks.

She meets her own eyes in the mirror.

Trust someone else to decide?
He does know your style
Don't overcomplicate this

She runs her fingers - deep red nails gleaming - lightly through her hair.

The red really does elevate things.

"Just something with a bit of volume," she says. "Not too much."

Warm water runs through her hair. Fingers massage gently.

That feels good
Enjoy the moment
You don't always have to be in control

When the blow-dry is finished, she studies her reflection.

More volume. More style. More presence.

"That changes the silhouette."

"I love it."

I do
I didn't have to make this much effort
I'm glad I have

- - -

By late afternoon, her bedroom glows in golden light.

Two dresses lie across the bed.

The yellow wrap - easy, fluid, forgiving.
The deep forest green midi - structured, figure-hugging, soft cowl neckline, subtle waist definition, slight slit at the left thigh.

She lifts the wrap first.

Comfortable.
Pretty.
Predictable.

She lays it down.

The green dress slides over her shoulders and settles perfectly.

She smooths it with careful hands.

I feel so me

Her usual pale pink lipstick rests beside the deeper berry.

Not too much
Pale pink is reliable
You want your lips noticed tonight
Don't overcomplicate this

She chooses the richer shade.

It's still you
Just more deliberate

Three pairs of heels wait.

Her barely-there strappy favourites.

He hasn't earned those yet

Nude courts.

Reliable

Then the slingbacks. Shiny black leather. Slim heel. Strap curving around her ankle.

She slides them on.

Her posture shifts instantly.

I love how I feel right now

She walks across the room, listening to the quiet click-clack.

There's something about slingbacks
Elegant, but deliberate
You don't wear these casually

- - -

In the taxi, the city glides past.

Hair full of volume.
Berry lips.
Red nails resting against green silk.

Her pulse quickens.

Are these nerves?
No
Something else

Anticipation.

She never quite knows when he'll move.

That shouldn't be attractive

Pause.

It is

She presses the buzzer.

The door clicks open.

- - -

He looks at her, silently at first.

Hair. Dress. Lips. Heels.

"You look" he begins.

"Like I meant to?" she replies lightly.

"Exactly."

He noticed

Dinner unfolds easily.

They move around one another in the kitchen, shoulders brushing. He cooks with quiet precision.

She tastes the custard.

"It's good."

He waits.

"But it's not quite perfect."

He doesn't defend himself. He reaches for the branded carton and places it between them.

He remembered

He begins pouring carefully into a bowl.

Steady stream. No waste.

She watches the flow and the movement of his wrist.

"That's very controlled."

"You don't like controlled?"

"Sometimes I do."

A beat.

The warmth of being remembered lingers inside her.

Sophie slowly stretches her left leg out, brushing the sleek toe of her slingback lightly against his thigh.

It's deliberate.

His gaze flickers downward - distracted.

And before he realises, his grip shifts.

The custard stream slides from the bowl.

A ribbon of warm yellow lands against her right calf and begins its slow descent toward her heel.

She gasps.

"Oh!"

It trails along her skin.

Oh no
My heels

A beat.

Wait
Why does that feel ...

The warmth spreads.

It's almost like a caress

He reaches for a cloth.

Her hand catches his wrist first.

Red nails against his skin.

"It's okay."

He stops.

"It's just custard."

Silence.

She drags one finger slowly through the custard on her calf and lifts it.

She licks it.

Unhurried.

I love the way his attention is completely on me

"You treat it like it's precious."

"You treated it like it isn't!" she adds teasingly.

Their eyes lock.

"Yellow is definitely your colour."

Her stomach tightens.

"I was hoping my heels would stay black!"

"You don't like the contrast?"

He's teasing me again

"It's bold."

"You look great in bold."

Her heart kicks.

"At least you didn't aim higher."

"Your dress?"

She imagines it.

Yellow against green silk.

What would that have felt like?

"You wouldn't have coped."

Oh. He's challenging me

"You'd be surprised, mister."

He studies her.

Where is he going to take this?
Where do I want him to take this?

"You know what would be really bold?"

"No."

I want to know though

"The contrast between your flowing brunette locks and this perfect, shiny yellow custard."

He emphasises perfect, just for her.

That would ruin everything you prepared!

He lifts the carton slightly.

"You wouldn't."

There's no way he would

He tilts it a fraction.

"You wouldn't."

Said with slightly less confidence.

He actually might

He steps closer, one hand resting lightly against her upper thigh, the other holding the carton.

"You wouldn't."

She whispers it now.

You're not asking if he would
You're deciding whether you want him to

He stops.

He waits.

He's right. It would be bold
Am I that bold?
Do I dare?

She lightly licks her lips.

"If you're going to do this," she says slowly, "don't hold back."

"You're sure?"

She holds his gaze.

You chose red
You chose volume
You chose the silky dress
You chose the heels
You can choose this

"I'm sure."

She twirls away from him and walks deliberately to the bar stool.

Click. Clack.

She turns and sits.

Tall stool. Heels barely touching the rung. Knees aligned. Red nails bright against green silk.

She looks at him.

"If you're really going to do it," she says quietly, "look at me while you do it."

He steps forward.

I want him to do this to me
I have no idea why!

The first blob lands at the crown of her head.

"Oh--"

That wasn't rehearsed

Warm. Thick. Heavy.

It presses her volume flat.

Custard drips onto her nose, her shoulders, the neckline of her dress.

"You're enjoying this far too much," she says meaningfully.

"And so are you," he replies.

He's right

She tastes sweetness on her lips.

He doesn't rush.

"You still look beautiful," he murmurs.

Her breath catches.

Don't retreat

She runs both hands through her custard-covered hair.

Thick. Warm. Indulgent.

Red nails disappear into yellow.

"You didn't rush."

"No."

"No gloating."

"I wouldn't."

Custard drips from her nose. She lets it.

You're still you

"I wasn't expecting that gasp."

"I liked it."

A flicker in his jaw. A softness in his eyes.

She notices.

"That's bold."

"And you're still here."

She shifts her heels on the rung. The strap presses against her skin.

She moves closer.

Deliberate.

One custard-threaded red nail drags down his shirt.

"Come here."

He steps in.

"If you're going to undo me," she whispers, lips inches from his, "do it properly."

She kisses him.

Slow. Measured.

When she pulls back, she smiles.

"You don't get to be the only one enjoying this."

She drags one custard-threaded finger along his jaw.

"Your turn."

Her heel presses lightly against his calf.

Just enough.

I chose this