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Blushing from the compliment seems to be the only thing I’m capable of.
Seriously.
Is there anything sweeter than being called beautiful in multiple languages?
Especially when you’ve been running yourself ragged for three days so you know you look more Cinderella scrubbing the floors versus the bitch in the gorgeous ballgown.
Ugh.
I knew my brain was going to have nothing but Cinderella references after Tate and I agreed yesterday to go see Rodgers + Hammerstein’s Cinderella musical with Nat in November. I would’ve gone with her on my own, but he insisted on coming with, offering to drive so that we could drink as much as we wanted at dinner before the show. Thankfully, they get along really well, with their first meeting having been on the neutral ground – like I wanted.
We went bowling.
They both suck at it, so they quickly had something to bond over.
Daniel turns his head over his shoulder which exposes his identity and causes my boyfriend’s cheerful demeanor to slightly waiver as he steps inside. “I didn’t know you had company.”
Jealousy is painfully prevalent in his green gaze pushing me to do my best to ease it. “He just stopped by to shoot the shit for a bit while stealing my company’s coffee.”
“It’s complimentary,” he playfully jabs my direction.
“Yeah, for patients and clients.”
“I could be a patient.”
“You’re testing my patience,” I teasingly scold while Tate heads my direction.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he bites, Irish accent getting thicker, something that also happens when he’s irked. “I just thought I’d drop you off an early grilled chicken and asparagus dinner before my shift.” The plastic bag in his possession is placed carefully on the edge of my long wooden desk. “And deliver this rose I clipped from your garden.” The beautiful, pruned to perfection red creation is lovingly offered closer to my face as he leans in for kiss. “Algo bello para mi bella.”
My swooning response over him saying “something beautiful for my beautiful” in Spanish is unfortunately interrupted by my ex extending his hand outward for shaking. “I’m Dr. Daniel Wainwright.”
Tate straightens himself up at the same time he shakes. “We’ve met before.”
“Have we?” my ex-husband questions in total sincerity.
“Several times.”
Bafflement deepens on Daniel’s stone-cut complexion. “Really?”
“Tate used to be our regular server at Arthur’s,” I promptly remind.
“Oh,” he casually replies, coffee being brought to his lips, “I didn’t realize they delivered.”
“They don’t,” my other half practically snarls without leaving time for me to speak. “I’m her boyfriend.”
Daniel immediately starts chuckling yet when abruptly ceases when no one joins him. “Oh, you’re serious?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“You’re the boyfriend she talks about?”
“Ar a laghad tá tú luaite liom,” he murmurs under his breath.
Of course, I’ve fucking mentioned him.
I love him!
“My apologies,” Daniel swiftly claims, surprised expression still on display. “I just never pictured her with someone so…”
