He sighed. Back then, he'd said it jokingly—just to make her laugh.

Who knew she'd actually remember? Or worse, take it seriously?

Tilda grinned wickedly. "Come on. You're a man, aren't you? Don't tell me you're backing out now."

She was deliberately goading him, and it worked. Seeing that glint in her eyes, Lyndon realized he was doomed.

He'd walked right into her trap—and now there was no turning back.

Still.

"Wait," he said thoughtfully. "Didn't I also say that if I wore women's clothes, you had to wear men's? So, if you want me to wear a dress, shouldn't you wear a suit?"

Tilda clapped her hands in delight and opened the wardrobe. "Perfect! Let's swap. I'll wear your shirt and pants." Lyndon opened his mouth to protest—but stopped himself.

She was so excited!

There was no winning against that level of enthusiasm.

Tilda handed him the red dress with both hands, her eyes twinkling.

He frowned at the dress but took it anyway.

"Need help changing?" she asked sweetly, already stepping closer.

Lyndon gave her a look and said nothing.

She smiled wider. "First time wearing a dress, right? Let me help. Think of me as your personal stylist."

Before he could object, she was already unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers quick and practiced.

Her eyes gleamed with barely disguised amusement.

"You're enjoying this way too much," Lyndon muttered, pulling her closer by the waist.

Tilda didn't argue, instead she giggled, slipping the shirt off his shoulders and reaching for his belt.

Once she had him down to his undershirt and boxers, she held up the dress dramatically.

Lyndon rolled his eyes but obliged.

The dress was designed to hug the waist, and though it was one of the roomier pieces, it was still clearly meant for a woman's frame.

On Lyndon, it clung awkwardly, pulling a bit tight in places.

"Honey," he said, tugging at the fabric, "are you sure I can fit into this?"