Tasha had written a long caption under the picture, tagging the shop in the location line along with an upscale cosmetics salon two doors down in the strip mall.

The caption described their whole afternoon, proudly mentioning the six-hundred-dollar price tag on the emerald gown and the two-hundred-dollar nonrefundable deposit she’d just put down for Madison’s prom hair and makeup package.

I zoomed in on the reflection in the glass behind Madison’s platform.

In the polished surface of the checkout counter, standing right beside the brass register, was Rory.

He had on his heavy canvas work jacket and held his leather wallet open as he handed a black credit card to the salesclerk.