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I hit the button on the fob, and the Ferrari beeps.
Dahlia’s eyes go wide. “Can I drive it?”
“Go ahead.” I toss the key fob in the air.
She nearly misses it before diving at the last second to grab it. “Seriously?”
I open the driver’s door for her. “Sure. It’s a rental.”
Dahlia adjusts the seat to her height.
“Let’s not get into any accidents today, though.” I hop into the passenger seat and buckle my seat belt.
She tosses on a pair of sunglasses, realigns the rearview mirror, and takes off down the road, making the tires squeal and my heart lurch in the process.
“Is it as good as you remember?” Dahlia asks.
I take another sip of my iced coffee. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? It’s the best!” She grabs my straw and takes a sip. “That’s delicious, and I refuse to accept any other answer.”
“Nostalgia is making you think that.” I wrap my armaround her and tug her against my side as I stare up at the Hoover Tower. “It seemed so much larger when we were freshmen.”
She laughs. “Everything about this campus seemed so big and scary.”
“I was convinced you were going to transfer back to a local college with how homesick you got during the first year.”
“I only survived because of you.”
“We helped each other as freshmen, but you made it through the other three years on your own.”
She lifts a shoulder. “San Francisco warmed up to me eventually.”
“Speaking of San Francisco, where do you want to go next?”
“I remember someone mentioning shopping?”
I tug my wallet from my pocket and pull out my black card. “Buy whatever you want for tonight.”
“I was going to use a dress I already had…” She plucks the card from my fingers. “But if you insist!”
Warmth spreads through my chest like an inferno, consuming me.
Funny how I spent ten years searching for someone to make me feel a fraction of the way Dahlia did, only to end up here, hoping I get to spend the rest of my days with her.
Despite footing the expensive boutique bill, Dahlia doesn’t let me sneak a peek at her dress until it’s time to head out for the event.
Her heels click against the stairs, but I don’t turn until she stops at the landing.
My vision tunnels until I only see her. “Preciosa.”
From her perfectly styled hair and makeup to her silk dress, Dahlia looks like a billion dollars. She does a little spin, and the fabric of her dress flutters around her, changing colors with the light.
“Remember that when you get your credit card statement at the end of the month.”
I grab her hand and give her another twirl, earning the best laugh. “Who’s the designer?”
“Why are you asking?”
