Page 113 of Keep Me Close

I stop walking.

She takes another step before realizing I’m no longer beside her. When she turns back, her brows pull together. “What?”

“You did it.”

Her frown deepens. “Did what?”

“You walked in there and gave it your best shot.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

She looks at me like she wants to argue, but I don’t give her the chance.

“You went in there even though you were scared. Even though you could’ve easily turned around and walked out. That means something, Chey.”

She remains silent.

As she stands in the middle of that hallway, looking so damn unsure of herself, I realize this is about more than just cheering her up. She needs someone to remind her that what she did today matters.

“We’re going out tonight and celebrating,” I tell her.

Her brows lift. “What exactly are we celebrating?”

“That you put yourself out there and tried something new. You didn’t let your mom or the show or anybody else decide your future.”

She continues to stare at me.

“That’s worth celebrating,” I tell her.

Her expression softens. “You really think so?”

“I know so, babe.”

She hesitates before nodding. “Okay.”

“Good, because I already made reservations.”

“You did?”

“Yup. Gold Coast Table,” I say, starting down the hall again. “Nice place. You’ll like it.”

She huffs out a small laugh, and hearing it loosens something inside me.

By the time we get home, she’s still quiet, not at all like herself, and I hate it.

The second we step out of the elevator, I back her up against the wall and kiss her, slow at first and then deeper, until she stops thinking and starts feeling. Until her hands slide into my hair and the tension in her muscles finally drains.

All that matters is getting her out of her head and giving her something else to focus on. When her breath hitches and her body tightens just before unraveling, I know I’ve done exactly what I set out to.

After that, we finish getting ready and then head to the restaurant. No matter what happens with that audition, tonight is about Chey taking the first step toward the future she wants to build for herself.

The restaurant is the kind of place that has fancy white tablecloths, mood lighting, and soft jazz drifting through the space. We’re shown to a table near the window with views of the city. The conversations around us are low enough that it almost feels private.

Even though Chey stares at the menu, I can tell she’s not actually seeing it.

“Hey,” I say. “You okay over there? Having a hard time deciding between the beef Wellington and the seafood special?”