Diesel’s fur stands stubbornly on my shirt sleeve even though I lint-rolled three times before leaving. My sweater feels suddenly too warm. My heartbeat’s weird, tapping out some frantic rhythm it hasn’t used since my early twenties.
I don’t get like this.
Not for anyone.
Not anymore.
The waiter swings by. “Waiting on someone?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He grins. He knows.
And I want to crawl into the floorboards.
I check my watch.
7:59.
Okay.
Deep breath.
She’ll walk in any second and I’m gonna be normal. Professional. Chill.
Nothing about this is a date.
Absolutely nothing.
I take a sip of water, and my hand shakes a little.
Great. I’m nailing this.
Then the door opens, and she steps inside.
Every neuron in my brain short-circuits at once.
Her dress is…
Holy hell.
Silky. Black. Wrap-style that hugs her waist and curves like it was sewn onto her body. Hair loose around her shoulders.Lips soft and glossy. Eyes scanning the room with that mix of confidence and vulnerability that already kills me.
I exhale without meaning to.
She looks beautiful. Like—hurt-your-chest beautiful.
She doesn’t see me yet. Just stands near the hostess podium, adjusting her purse strap, biting her lip slightly like she’s nervous too.
Hope surges through me so fast it scares me.
I stand just as she spots me, and her face lights. Her expression is small, warm, and controlled.
But real.
She starts walking toward me, heels hitting the floor softly, dress swaying around her hips.
And I know, instantly and unquestionably, that I am in trouble as she reaches the table.
