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Ansley
“This or this?”
Erin is sitting on my bed, and I hold up two dress options for her to choose from. She came by the café this afternoon, and I told her that I was going out with Garrett tonight. She got excited and insisted on coming back and helping me get ready because she didn’t trust me to make the right impression.
“I like the black one,” she says.
I hold it up to my body and look in the full-length mirror. It’s a low-cut, body-hugging number.
“Really? It doesn’t scream desperation?” I ask.
“No, it screams, I’m a strong, confident, and sexy-as-hell woman, and you’d better trip over yourself to make me happy if you want a piece of this.”
I wrinkle my nose. “A dress can say all that?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah,” she croons.
I hold the other dress up. It’s a simple camel-colored sweater dress with a cowl neck. I like it.
“What does this say?” I ask.
She eyes me from head to toe. “It says, I need to be home by eight o’clock to feed my cats and tuck them in bed.”
I frown. “No, it doesn’t. It’s very chic,” I protest.
“Librarian chic,” she corrects.
I toss the sweater dress to the side with a huff.
I give in. “Fine, the black dress it is.”
She claps as I slide into the dress and pull on my thin, strappy black heels.
She curls my hair, and I apply dramatic makeup.
Once I’m ready, I hold my arms out and twirl. “What do you think?” I ask.
She grins. “I think you’re going to have Garrett Tuttle eating out of the palm of your hand tonight.”
“I don’t know if I can go through with this,” I say as I nervously smooth the front of the dress.
She walks over and puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me back toward the mirror. “Of course you can. Remember, you’re the one in control. You are using him, getting what you want, and you’ll be the one dumping him this time around. Look at you. Girl, you’re so hot that I’d date you if I swung for the other team.”
“I’m glad one of us has confidence in me,” I say.
She lays her chin on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I got you.”
Once I’m ready, we head back downstairs. Erin slips out, and I pace while waiting for Garrett to arrive.
My heart is racing. I feel like a sixteen-year-old girl, all dolled up for the prom, waiting for my handsome date.
My handsome, arrogant, dangerous, and sexy-as-hell date.
I hope this wasn’t a bad idea. I want to be the girl all full of attitude and bravado, like Erin and Jena, but honestly, I’m so much the opposite. When it comes to working, I ooze self-confidence, but when it comes to matters of the heart, I’m a mess. This is why I rarely date.
Last Thursday night is a perfect example. Kevin and I went to dinner, and I spent the entire night nervously talking about the grand opening. He barely got a word in edgewise. After, he drove me home and walked me to the door, and when he leaned in to kiss me, I panicked. I turned my head, and his lips landed on the side of my nose. I was so embarrassed that I mumbled something along the lines of see ya later, and I bolted inside and rushed up to my apartment.
I watched from the window as he stood there, trying to decide whether he should knock on the door or not, while I silently begged him to get in his car and go. Finally, he did just that. I hadn’t even thanked him for dinner. When he came by the grand opening the next morning for coffee, I avoided the topic of our disaster of a date and kept myself too busy to have a one-on-one conversation with him. Which wasn’t too hard since I was very busy at the time.
Coward.
Now, here I am, attempting to do this for the second time this week, and this time, it’s with Garrett Tuttle. The bastard who broke my heart all those years ago.
I press my hands against my stomach. Maybe I should call this off. That would be the sane thing to do.
I fish my phone out of my purse to text him, and then I remember I don’t have his number.
I debate on calling Sara-Beth to ask for it, but before I can, there’s a knock at the door.
I slowly turn to see Garrett standing on the patio.
His dark hair is tousled, as if he frustratedly ran his fingers through it. He used to do that anytime he was overwhelmed. I loved the way it looked, sticking up and out. It somehow made him even more attractive. The tortured soul of the bad boy of Balsam Ridge.
I take a deep breath and let it out, give myself a quick pep talk, and then open the door.
He is standing there in dark jeans with a pair of brown suede loafers and a matching brown leather belt. His white collared shirt is tucked in, the first few buttons undone, and he has on a snug navy blazer. And he looks good.
In his hand is a bouquet of blue and white irises.
My favorite. He remembered.
He gives me a devilish grin as he looks at me from head to toe.
A long, slow whistle tells me he approves of my dress choice.
Then, he leans in and plants a kiss on the side of my neck.
