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“Thank you. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want you to think I wanted you to leave. I’m glad you’re here, actually.” My words come out in a rush, my voice not my own as my nerves take over. “I’ve been wanting a chance to talk to you. Well, to ask you out, really. But every time I’m around you, I seem to embarrass myself more and more, so you’re probably ready to run far, far away from me by this point.” My word vomit continues.
Shut up! I mentally shout, but my lips aren't getting the memo as they continue to spew every thought without a filter. “Not to mention, you’re gorgeous. Someone like you would never be interested in someone like—”
His finger on my lips stalls the verbal diarrhea, and I risk a glance at his face. But he doesn’t look like he’s ready to run in the other direction. In fact, he smiles tenderly down at me and says, “What a coincidence, because I dropped by hoping to convince you to join me for dinner.” He’s so close. At some point during my nervous rant, he crouched down in front of me, and I can’t help but notice how beautiful his eyes are at this distance. How had I not noticed the specks of gold and green in them before?
He moves his finger, runs his thumb along my bottom lip, and says, “so, what do you say, Sunshine?”
My brain is mush. Being this close to him and the object of his undivided attention for so long surely can’t be good for my health, because I forget the question. As soon as it leaves his lips. I know the answer, though. Because no matter the question, my answer will be the same, “yes.” Whatever this man wants, I want it too.
He’s so close all either of us would have to do is lean forward a few inches and our lips would meet. My heart pounds in my chest as I sit there, incapable of moving, even if I wanted to. His gaze lowers to my lips, and I see my own desire reciprocated there as he swipes my errant bangs behind my ear and leans in. This is it. He’s going to kiss me, and I have never wanted anything more in my life.
My eyes close of their own volition, and I tilt my lips up toward his. Anticipation thrums through my entire body as I wonder if I’m about to experience my very last first kiss. What type of kisser will Emmett be? Soft and slow? Strong and dominating?
But the sudden weight in my lap and the wet tongue on my cheek is not what I’d been expecting. My eyes fly open as Cecil happily climbs the rest of the way into my lap, demanding my full attention. Emmett’s husky chuckle draws my attention upwards to see him now standing much further away with his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans. “It seems that Cecil feels I have overstayed my welcome. So, I’m going to go. But I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?”
I want to be disappointed, but I’m not. Because holy cow! Emmett frickin’ Steele asked me on a date.
fifteen
Safety First
Dear Readers,
I doubled down on my romantic research this week. Which is really code for ‘I stayed in my pajamas and binged all the rom-coms on Netflix’. But I’m labeling it as research.
You know what I noticed? None of those movies prepare you for dating in the modern world. A world in which a hook-up is just a swipe away. A world in which true love seems to have lost its luster as technology has taken over.
Someone, take me back to the when a man picked you up at your front door with a bouquet of flowers in his arms. When they held open doors and walked on the outside of the sidewalk to protect you from traffic. Where they make you feel beautiful and precious with every gesture.
Can we revive love how it used to be?
Sincerely, Charley
My first order of business after Emmett leaves is to send Millie an SOS text. Well, after I pinch myself to be sure the entire situation isn’t an elaborate dream. Then I texted Millie. It’s after four now, which means I only have three hours left to get ready. I’ll need all the help I can get.
Now that he had left, the nerves had fully set in. What would I even wear? Where was he taking me? None of my other dates have inspired this much of a reaction from me and that is just one more clue that Emmett really might be my prince. I rub my suddenly sweaty palms on my cotton pants and try to focus on the task at hand. I stand in my room and survey the damage. My normally very tidy room looks like it’s been the victim of a natural disaster.
My queen-sized bed sits buried beneath a mountain of clothing and the surrounding floor nearly groans beneath the weight of my shoes. My shoes which are normally carefully stored on a staggered display rack in the closet. It pains me to see them like that, and I promise myself I will put them all back in order as soon as possible.
But even after dragging out every single item of clothing and footwear that I own, I still haven’t found the perfect outfit. Everything is too dressy or too casual. Too sparkly or too bland. I need everything to be perfect. Especially after the disaster that I’ve been every time Emmett has seen me thus far. Regardless of what had happened prior to now, I’m determined to put my best foot forward. To really make a good impression
“You’re being too picky, Charley. I really think that green dress looked great on you! Pair it with the black stilettos and you’ll have the poor man drooling. I happen to know green is his favorite color.” Millie perches on the edge of my plum-colored accent chair in the corner and surveys my mess.
I shake my head, giving her an exasperated look. “No. That’s not it. It’s not what I’m looking for. I need something with a ‘wow’ factor. Something to replace the memories of me mooning the entire gym.” I gesture dramatically at the surrounding room. “None of this will do.”
“Well, you’re running out of time, so you’re going to have to make something here work.” Millie stands and begins picking through the pile of discarded items on my bed, holding each item up for my approval.
Having already gone this route, I shake my head almost mechanically as despair fills me. It’s so important to me that everything goes as smoothly as possible.
On that note, “maybe we should steer clear of dresses. Or extra tight clothes. Actually, a hoody and jeans sounds the safest.”
Millie, as a true friend, works to keep her lips from tilting upwards into a smile at the memory of my other interactions with Emmett. “You have a point. Let’s compromise, though. I’m sure we can find something that flatters you and also doesn’t put you in imminent danger of another wardrobe malfunction.” With that, she turns to survey the mountain of clothes again.
Digging to the bottom, she pulls out a pair of dark wash, ripped skinny jeans made from a stretchier, more forgiving material, and follows it up with a shiny gold shirt with a form-fitted torso and loose bell sleeves. Switching to the shoes, she pulls out a pair of sensible, yet sexy, black peep-toe wedges. “This! Paint your toes a sexy, fire-engine red, leave your beautiful hair down, and Emmett won’t know what hit him!”
I’m still not too sure, but Millie’s smile is contagious. Plus, I don’t have a better idea, so I rush to get changed for my next date. My heart flutters in my chest at the thought that maybe, just maybe, this might be my very last first date.
sixteen
