“Ready!”
***
I’m leaning against the kitchen counter, pretending I’m checking my phone, when the backdoor clicks open softly, followed by the faint scrape of heels against the floorboards.
It’s a different sound to the one she usually makes walking back into the house, more tentative, and it has me looking up.
The silver heels are back.
She pauses just inside the doorway, fingers curled loosely around the strap of her bag like she’s only just talked herself into coming back over here.
My eyes immediately drag over her. She’s wearing a silky black dress that follows the line of her waist and hips without trying too hard, and her blonde hair is down, tumbling loose over her shoulders.
She shifts her weight, one hand resting lightly against the wall as she bends to adjust the strap at her ankle. It’s such a small movement, but it pulls my attention down to the curve of her calf, the careful way she fastens it in case it might fall off.
“I feel slightly ridiculous,” she says, not looking at me. “This is Maplewood. There’s probably someone at this restaurant wearing cargo shorts.”
I push off the counter and walk toward her. “You don’t look ridiculous.”
“For a Maplewood dinner,” she adds, trying for light.
She straightens, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress. There's a flicker of nerves in her that makes me pause, because Penny’s often full of bright confidence and quick comebacks. Seeing her uncertain for even a second feels strangely important.
I stop in front of her.
“What about for me?”
Her eyes lift, and I know that’s the real question. She studies my face to check whether I’m joking before she answers.
“Maybe,” she admits.
My gaze moves over her properly this time, taking her in.
“For me, you do not look ridiculous. For me,” I say, eyes dragging back to hers, “you look like I’m gonna spend the whole night thinking about getting you back home.”
It’s not a flashy line, but it’s the fucking truth.
“Evan,” she says softly, only half warning.
I step in close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric of her dress, and let my hand settle at her waist, thumb skating lightly at her hip.
“Still feel ridiculous?” I ask.
She shakes her head once. “No.”
“Still wanna go out?” My body’s already hoping she says no.
She chuckles, and I press my hips forward into hers, letting her feel what she’s doing to me.
“Because we could just order in,” I suggest. “Or I could just have you for dinner.”
Her laugh is louder this time, and her palms land on my chest. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to wine and dine me.”
“Mm.” My mouth moves to her neck. “And then the rest.”
She pushes lightly with a snort. “Make a wish and it might come true.”
I grin against her skin, letting my hands linger at her waist for another second before forcing myself to step back.
