Felicity stopped just inside the yard's boundary.
She hadn't clapped yet. Hadn't cheered. Hadn't smiled. She just stood there with her hands tucked behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels like she was deciding whether to step forward or stay put.
"…Is it too much?" she asked quietly.
The pleated skirt swayed when she moved, crisp folds catching the sun. The hem brushed her thighs. Every seam was reinforced. Every pleat precise. She'd stitched it herself, needle biting skin more than once, because she'd wanted it right.
Snow Team was embroidered along the waistband in careful, slightly uneven thread. Not factory clean. Personal. Intentional.
The top matched. Fitted. Clean. Their symbol sat over her heart, imperfect and unmistakably hers.
Victor froze.
Actually froze.
His gaze dragged over her, slow and unhidden, jaw locking so hard it ticked. He looked like a man actively restraining himself from throwing her over his shoulder and removing her from public view entirely.
