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“Not when it’s you.” Her soft reply is only for me, and I don’t know if she means for the words to wrap themselves around my heart, but that’s exactly what they do.
thirteen
Ramsey
I’ve been on dates before but never with a man I actually wanted to be on a date with. Tonight is my first official date, and it’s with Deacon. We texted back and forth all day yesterday, and most of today, and the more time I spend talking to him, the more I like him.
For me, that’s scary and exhilarating at the same time. I feel like a sixteen-year-old girl all over again, only this time, I get to make the decisions. I’m getting to choose the boy, well, in this case, the man, and I’m giddy. That’s the only way to describe myself.
I’ve changed my outfit three times already, and I’m desperate enough to break down and call my best friend. “Help,” I beg as soon as she answers the video call.
“What am I helping with?”
“I don’t know what to wear.”
Her eyes soften. “Ramsey, take a deep breath,” she instructs, and I do as she says. “Now, slowly exhale.” Again, I do as I’m told. “There. Now, he’s going to like you in anything. He’s into you. Don’t think too much about this.”
“How can I not, Palmer? This is the first time I’ve gotten to choose my date. This is a big deal. I don’t have much to offer him. He’s older, successful, and handsome, and he has his shit together. I’m a twenty-two-year-old who works three jobs and ran from her parents and her abusive ex-boyfriend.” The truth of my anxiety tumbles freely from my lips.
“Let’s dissect that, shall we?” She holds up one finger. “First of all, so there are a few years or ten between the two of you. Who cares? You’re mature, and you’re both into each other. That’s inconsequential. Second,” She holds up a second finger, “you are the epitome of successful. You left the only home you’d ever known, moved to a new town to stay with family you barely knew, and look at where you are. You have your own place, a nice dependable car, and money in the bank. You’ve done all of that, Ramsey. You’re a hard worker, dedicated, and you’re a fighter.” She holds up a third finger. “Third, you’re beautiful. I hate that what they did to you made you think otherwise, and I hate that you’re too caught up in shying away from others that you don’t see the way men look at you. I hate that you don’t see the way that my brother looks at you.”
A month ago, I would have pushed her words to the back of my mind, not allowing myself to believe them. Today, however, they hit differently. They cause hope to bloom in my chest and warmth to fill my soul. When will I let myself realize that this is my life? I’m not what my father wanted me to be. I’m so much more.
“This… Well, Deacon. He’s the first thing I’ve wanted for me, and more than stability, for a very long time. I have all these emotions coursing through me. I’ve never had a guy affect me this way. I’ve never had them want to spend time with me and me with them in return.”
“Show me what you have on.”
Propping the phone up on my nightstand, I take a step back. “This is my third attempt.”
“You know I love that dress. Shoes?” she asks.
“I was thinking of my brown strappy sandals.” Walking away, I grab them from my closet and hold them up. The dress I’m wearing has a high neck and cutouts for the arms. The pattern is paisley, in dark blue, oranges, reds, and cream. It goes well with my dark hair, and the brown sandals match it perfectly.
“Ramsey, you look beautiful. I’m confident that the other two outfits were perfect too. Don’t try too hard. Just be you. If Deacon doesn’t see how incredible you are, then you don’t need him. I don’t care that he’s my brother. If he’s too blind to see what’s in front of him, then good riddance.”
“I really want him to see what’s in front of him,” I whisper, but I know she hears me.
“Just be you, Ramsey. It’s impossible not to want to be around you.” As soon as she says the words, there’s a knock at my door.
“He’s here.”
“Go. Have fun. And I want to hear all about it.”
“Thank you.” I blow her a kiss, end the call, grab my phone and sandals, and rush out of my bedroom. Pulling open the door, my breath escapes my lungs. Deacon is dressed in a black button-down, which is rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of dark-washed jeans that appear to be made just for him if the way they’re molded to his thighs is any indication. His hair looks as though he’s run his hands through it multiple times. It makes me want to reach up and do the same.
