My Dad's Bestfriend
“I didn’t bring anything remotely fancy, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to pull this off. So, Mr. Jacob, what’s your grand solution?”
Without hesitation, Jacob pulled out his phone. “First, I’m calling Eliot.”
“Who’s Eliot?” I asked, curious.
“A friend.”
“And how’s this friend supposed to help?” Bianca asked, giving Jacob a skeptical look.
“He’s a fashion designer,” Jacob said with a grin as he dialed, putting the call on speaker.
The phone rang twice before a voice answered—high-pitched and unmistakably flamboyant, though layered with background noise: chatter, commands, and a flurry of activity.
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