Hey. Are you busy?
For my favorite BHC gal? Never!
What’s up?
I’m about to go on a date and I’m kind of freaking out.
After Sam and Charlie got back together, I wound up becoming friends with Charlie’s ride-or-die, Tish. She’s sharp, loyal, and somehow always knows when to talk me down. She knows just about everything there is to know about my mess of a history.
Except the little secret I’ve never had the guts to say out loud, but Missy Jones proudly blurted in front of Will. The fact that I’m still holding on to my V-card like it’s a family heirloom, and haven’t been kissed enough times to count on both hands.
Ooooh. Who’s the lucky guy?
His name’s Trey. We went to high school together.
Reconnected last weekend.
But I haven’t done this in forever, and my brain is short-circuiting.
Oh, babe. Deep breaths. Just go in with an open mind and have fun. You don’t owe anyone anything except showing up as your brilliant, beautiful self.
And just like that, I exhale. Because if there’s one person who can make me believe I’ve got this, it’s Tish.
Show me what you’re wearing.
I snap a photo and send it. I’m pretty proud of the outfit and how my curvy body is on full display.
Girl! You’re going to have him eating out of your hands!
I smile at the screen, but it doesn’t quite reach. Because the truth is I didn’t put this outfit together with Trey in mind.
No, I chose the black top because it hugs me in all the right places, and I remember Will once said he loves black. The lace skirt? It’s flirty without trying too hard, and something about it made me think of the way his eyes drop when I wear anything soft and feminine. The boots were a splurge, and maybe I told myself it was for the date but deep down, I just want to walk into Flowers End with my head high and legs longer.
I want Will to see me. And want me. God, that’s pathetic, isn’t it?
My dark hair’s pulled up in a high ponytail, sleek and high enough to make me feel bold. My makeup is sultry. Smoky eyes, a kiss of gloss, and just enough highlight to catch the light when I tilt my chin. I don’t just look good. I look like the version of myself I want to be tonight: confident, untouchable, fine.
With a slow, steadying breath, I grab my bag, square my shoulders, and head out the door to meet Trey at the bar.
He’s already there, leaning casually against the brick wall outside Flowers End, his hands in his pockets. When he spots me, he lets out a low whistle, eyes widening with something close to awe.
“You look stunning, Phern.”
I smile, letting the compliment settle on my skin. “You clean up nice yourself.”
And he does. Trey’s in dark jeans and a crisp, fitted button-up that brings out the gold in his hair. It’s slicked back just enough to look intentional without trying too hard, and his cologne curls pleasantly in the warm night air.
But it’s not Will. There’s no static charge. No heat curling low in my stomach. No sharp inhale that makes me forget how to breathe.
Trey holds out his hand, easy and charming. “Ready?”
I slip my hand into his and smile. “Yup.”
We walk toward the door, our fingers linked, but I can’t help the way my pulse flutters. Not from nerves. From the possibility that someone else might be on the other side of that door.
Inside, Flowers End is alive. It’s packed wall-to-wall with familiar faces and the hum of a Friday night in full swing. Laughter spills over the twang of a country song playing low on the speakers, and the air smells like beer, smoke, and someone’s bad perfume.
People call my name as we walk through. Faces I’ve known since I was knee-high and barefoot, asking for soda in a beer glass. I smile, wave, offer the occasional “Hey, good to see you,” but Trey doesn’t stop. He keeps his hand on the small of my back like he’s leading me through a storm, steady and sure.
