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He grins. “You are my wife, so a date seems appropriate, especially considering we haven’t had one before.”
I nod. “I’d like that.”
He grins. “Good. Pick you up at six.” Then he winks.
I laugh. “Lucky you, you won’t have to go far to pick me up. Only the next bedroom.”
He chuckles. “I promise to knock on your door like it’s a real date.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I jest.
This, right here, feels good. It feels right. It feels real.
What does one wear on their first date with the man that’s actually their husband?
A skintight sexy dress, that’s what.
I put more effort into my makeup than usual and leave my hair down, the ends curling.
I slip my feet into a pair of strappy heels and admire my reflection in the floor-length mirror on my wall. I don’t get dressed-up often, but damn I look good—if I do say so myself.
I grab my clutch off my dresser just before a knock sounds on my bedroom door.
It’s six on the dot.
I swing the door open, and I can’t stop the smile when I see Xander. His hair flops over his forehead and he reaches up, pushing the shaggy strands back. Someone else might think he needs a haircut, but I like the look on him, along with the stubble on his cheeks. He’s dressed in a pair of gray pants with a blue button-down shirt tucked into them, and a black belt. He grins crookedly and pulls his hand from behind his back, revealing a single peony.
My favorite flower.
I gasp, shocked that he’d remember. I think it’s something I’ve only mentioned once, twice at the most, that I liked the flower. But he remembered.
“Thank you.” I take it from him. I inhale the fresh scent of the flower and try to hide the fact that I’m swooning. The boy is good. Too damn good.
“We better hurry,” he says. “We have reservations at Blanco.”
I gape. “That place is like crazy expensive.”
He shrugs. “You deserve the best.”
“I would’ve been happy with McDonald’s.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “That might be so, but we’re not having our first date at McDonald’s.”
“Is McDonald’s second date appropriate?” I ask as I step out into the hall and start down the steps.
His chuckle sounds beside me. “More like third date.”
“You ruin all the fun. Happy meals are the best.”
I head to the kitchen and find that the single peony I hold is actually a part of a much bigger bouquet that he already has in a vase. I turn around and smile at him.
“You’re good,” I say, slipping the flower into the vase with the others.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and lifts his shoulde
rs. “I try.”
Prue brushes against my leg and I look down to find her standing between us, tail wagging.
