[Sable]:Like a parka? Ice fishing in Texas?
He doesn’t miss a beat.
[unknown number]:I’d love to see you in leather.
My stomach does a triple-fucking-axle, and I can’t stop the involuntary shiver that runs through me.Damn, this man is not subtle.
[unknown number]:I’ll be there in about an hour and a half. Get moving.
My head spins as I read his last message. Leather? What the hell? Is he being serious or just messing with me? I glance out at the yard where the men are working.
My heart is hammering, and I rush inside, nearly tripping over my own feet. I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear, but I’ll figure it out.
Twenty minutes later, I jump from a knock at my door. Panic floods my veins.I’m barely ready!
I scramble out of my closet and to the door, smoothing my cardigan down and hoping I look somewhat presentable. I haven’t even slipped into what I’m painstakingly deciding on wearing.
When I open it, I sigh in relief. The youngest guy from the yard crew holds out a cup.
“Good Morning,” he says, glowing with amusement. “From Mr. Alvarez.”
I let out a relieved breath and smile. “Thank you,” I say graciously, taking the beverage from him. It’s warm in my hands, a nice contrast to the cold panic settling in my chest.
I nod to him. “Tell… Mr. Alvarez… thanks. Really.”
As he walks away, I stand in the doorway for a moment, staring at the cup in my hands. This is insane. I’ve never experienced anything like this. I head back inside, clicking the door closed behind me.
The house is quiet, but my thoughts are anything but. I walk into the bathroom, set the coffee on the counter, and brush my hair out of my face. I start to work through my routine, but my mind keeps circling back to the glaring difference between Hex and Andrew already.
Andrew.God. It’s like he never even tried.
Ten years, and he couldn’t remember the smallest things about me. How do you take your coffee? How do you likeyour eggs? You’d think after a decade, he’d have those things locked down. But no, I had to tell him everything. Otherwise, defaultnothing.Kind words only left his mouth when working to persuade.
What do you want to do today?
That would’ve been a start, right? But no, I never got that. He never made plans, never surprised me. Not even on my birthday.
I used to wait for something, anything, to show me he gave a damn. A call, a text, a gesture. But they never came. And after a while, I stopped expecting them. Stopped even getting upset when birthdays would come and go with no recognition.
It dawns on me: I’ve never felt what it’s like to have someone remember the little things. That old ache stirs in my chest. The ache that hits when I realize I’d been alone in that relationship, despite living under the same roof. Even after creating a life with him.
I drag myself back to the present, checking myself in the mirror as I move through my morning ritual. I let the water from the sink run over my hands like the thoughts streaming through my head.What should I put on?
I glance at my underwear drawer, hesitating as I take a sip of my deliciously warm coffee.Should I make sure my bra and panties match? Do I even have anything like that? Should I even care? Would that be trying too hard? I’m not trying to impress him. It’s just a first date… right? Is this a date?
But the possibility of getting it wrong, of giving the impression that I’m barely holding it together, sends a rush of heat straight to my chest.
I go for the one matching set I own. Simple. Comfortable. Nothing too flashy. Anything could happen and I’ll be damned if I’m accidently wearing period panties today.
I wrinkle my nose at the thought. Then again, maybe I should wear them. I shouldn’t get all worked up about what he’ll thinkof my underwear on the first damn date.That’s ridiculous.He’s not going to see under my clothes. I do have a shred of standards left.Don’t I?
I let out a breath and move on, keeping my underwear choice and working on more pressing matters. I glance at my legs in the mirror and groan. Okay. Fine. I snatch my razor for the hasty job. I don’t have the luxury of time to do it right. Mentally, I can already feel the burn. But whatever. If I don’t do this, I’m going to panic and regret not trying.
Thank God Demi talked me into a discounted Brazilian wax with her last week. Because nothing saysgreat ideamore than ripping hair off your vagina at half price. I’d never waxed anything before, and the thought of getting smooth on the cheap sounded… tempting.
I left that hellhole with my right lip swollen to botched-filler proportions and the distinct feeling they’d torn each hair straight from my central nervous system. Still, I’d achieved dolphin-smoothness in all the right places, one bright spot in the freefall of my mental health.
I finish in record time, and one glance in the mirror confirms the job looks rushed. I grimace at the stubble I already see I missed at my ankles, but I shake it off. I’m wearing pants for fuck’s sake, but I’m determined to look presentable for him. Hex... whatever this is with him feels different, and I’m starting to panic in a way I’m not used to.
