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“Sure. Sounds good. When were you thinking?” I tried to sound blasé. Not like my heart was hammering in my chest.
“Does tonight work for you?” He sounded as if he were out of breath. Like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
Tonight?
Was that enough time to emotionally prepare?
“Okay. Sounds good. I get out of here around 5:30.”
“How about I pick you up at seven? Or would you rather meet me somewhere?”
This didn’t really sound like a date. “Meet you somewhere?”
“No, that’s stupid. I just thought—never mind. I’ll pick you up. Seven o’clock.” Why did he sound so frazzled?
“Seven sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“Great. Thanks, Whitney.”
I was left wondering what that was all about and whether my nerves could handle waiting until seven to find out.
**
I agonized over what to wear.
“You’re stressing me out, Whit. What’s going on?” Mom asked, watching me pull clothes out of my drawers and throw them on the bed.
“Nothing,” I lied, and when Mom narrowed her eyes, naturally, I caved. No one can keep anything from June Galloway. “Fine, I’m going out to dinner. It’s no big deal.”
“If it wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t be trashing your room trying to find something to wear. Who’s taking you out? The president?” She lifted a yellow shirt. “This is nice. Why don’t you wear this?”
I took the lacy top and made a face. “It looks like something a schoolteacher would wear.” I added it to the ‘no way in hell’ pile.
“And schoolteacher is not the look you’re going for. Gotcha.” Mom ventured into my room and started going through the outfits in my closet. “Maybe if you tell me who’s taking you to dinner, I can try to find something suitable.”
“It’s nobody. Just Kyle,” I told her, purposefully not looking at her.
“Kyle? As in Webber? Meg’s friend?” Mom asked.
“Yes, that Kyle.”
Mom didn’t say anything for a few minutes, then handed me my little black dress. “Then wear this.”
I held it up against my front and looked in my full-length mirror. It was definitely on the sexy side with a low neckline and a hem that hit mid-thigh. “Are you sure?” I turned left and right, trying to decide if this was the message I wanted to send him.
“If you’re putting this much thought into what you’re going to wear for dinner with Kyle Webber, then yes, that’s the dress you want to wear.” Mom’s reflection in the mirror winked. “I wondered how long this would take. Glad I got to see it before I went senile.”
I turned around, eyes wide. “What are you talking about, Mom?”
“You and your sister really do think I’m stupid. Or blind. Maybe both. She didn’t think I noticed how she and Adam mooned over each other for years. I guess you didn’t think I noticed how that poor boy panted after you since he was old enough to know why he was panting.”
“It’s not like that, Mom. He’s not interested in me. Not anymore.” I dropped the dress onto the bed and instead found a pair of black slacks and a nice green blouse that went nicely with my hair. Conservative and not giving out any messages.
Mom didn’t comment on my change of outfit. “I didn’t raise my girls to be so obtuse.” She shook her head and started to leave the room. “Just text if you’re not planning to come home.”
“It’s not going to be like that, Mom,” I called out, but she was already halfway down the stairs.
I looked at the black dress, then at the other outfit I picked out. The dress screamed date. But I wasn’t sure that’s what this was. Or what Kyle expected. He hadn’t sounded like a guy wanting to take out a girl he liked. He sounded ... freaked out?
Not letting myself get carried away, I changed into the slacks and blouse, even if I really wanted to wear the dress.
**
Kyle showed up at seven on the dot. Of course, he was punctual. I hadn’t expected anything less. I opened the door, and he stood on the stoop, hands in his slack pockets, the light blue of his short-sleeved shirt molded to his biceps.
His eyes started at my kitten heels and made their way upwards. He wasn’t slow about it like some men would be. Taking his time and letting you know he was doing it. His gaze swept over me, taking me all in, but not in an obtrusive way. Yet I felt warm all the same. “You look beautiful, Whit,” he said softly, his eyes tender.
I had missed his adoration. At some point, it had become familiar. I had taken it for granted. But it wasn’t just about him wanting me, about him adoring me. It was about the way he made me feel when he looked at me like that. How I wanted to be the kind of woman that deserved Kyle Webber to look at me like that.
