Bri: Oh my god!
Me: Don’t start
Bella: If he hurts you I will cry and Switch will commit several felonies
I smile at that, because yeah, that tracks.
Me: I promise I’m being careful but I also… kind of want to do this
There’s a beat.
Bella: Good. You deserve to want things too
And wow, okay, didn’t expect to get emotional in a driveway, but here we are.
Bri: Also please wear the blue dress, the one that makes men forget how to speak
I laugh out loud, starting my car.
Me: Noted and I will keep you both updated because obviously
Bella: You are not allowed to disappear on this date. I need live commentary
Bri: group chat demands content
Me: you are both ridiculous
Bella: and you dear sister, are going on a date. The cobwebs are being dusted.
I pull out of the driveway, heart still doing that weird hopeful flutter I’m not used to.
Me: Ewww. Never refer to my dating life in regards to spiders.
When I pull into my driveway, I hit the button for the garage and glide inside. Everything’s in its place, just the way I like it. I cut the engine, grab my bag, and head straight into the kitchen.
I drop my purse and phone on the counter and slip off my heels with a soft sigh. Damn, that feels good. I love my heels likethey’re my children, but I love taking them off at the end of a long day even more.
I grab a wine glass, pull a bottle from the wine fridge, and pour myself a generous splash. The golden liquid catches the light as I take a slow sip and finally breathe.
This house is mine. I bought it a few years ago, after Bri and Bella finished college, when I finally stopped feeling like I had to keep every dollar tucked away for emergencies. It’s exactly what you’d expect a real estate agent to live in. Upgraded kitchen, nice bathrooms, clean lines, everything polished and put together. The yard isn’t much, but it’s neat and always trimmed thanks to my lawn service. It’s a good life. A safe one.
I head into my bedroom, then into my walk-in closet, and peel out of my suit. I pull on a white tank and black leggings, something soft and comfortable, then wander back into the kitchen to grab my wine.
I turn on some music, light a couple of candles, and sink into my big, cozy reading chair with my Kindle in hand. This is usually the part of the night where I relax, where I disappear into someone else’s drama for a while. And yeah, my taste in books says a lot about me. I always end up reading about men who are in charge. The kind who take control without being cruel, who protect what’s theirs, who step in when the world gets heavy and say,I’ve got you, sweetheart, rest for a minute.Men who are strong, confident, a little dangerous, and very, very good at taking care of the woman they love. Seriously sexy, too. Because obviously.
I tell myself it’s just fiction, just escapism, but lately it feels like more than that. Like my brain is quietly reminding me what I want, even if I haven’t let myself say it out loud yet. I havemy job. I have my sisters. I have a life I worked my ass off to build. And I love it. I really do. But I’m finally in a place where I can admit it feels like something’s missing. I’m finally able to want something for myself. Can I let myself meet someone? Let myself fall? Give a man my heart and maybe, someday, have a family of my own?
I’ve spent over ten years taking care of my sisters, and I’d do it again a hundred times without hesitation. But I think I’m ready for it to be my turn. Ready for someone else to carry the heavy stuff for a while. Someone who lets me be me, but also knows how to take the lead when I’m tired of being the strong one.
I take another sip of wine and glance down at the page, at the fictional hero promising to protect his woman like it’s the only thing that matters. Must be nice. Maybe it’s finally time to stop just surviving and start wanting more.
My phone buzzes on the side table, and I pick it up, expecting a group chat notification from Bella or Bri. It’s not. It’s Grant. My stomach does a stupid little flip, which is rude, because I’m a grown woman with a mortgage and a wine fridge and I do not do butterflies.
Grant: Hey beautiful. How’s your night going?
I smile before I can stop myself.
Me: Quiet and cozy. Finally home and in comfy clothes.
