“Sayingit. How am I supposed to respond? The correct response isI love you, too, but it’s too soon to tell, so it’s just awkward.”
I ponder that one a moment, then I say, “Respond withas you should.”
Her nose wrinkles. “As you should? Isn’t that kind of arrogant?”
“I don’t think so. I, personally, believe that loving you should be a standard for all people. It’s merely stating a fact. I love you, as I should. Commend my stating of the obvious. Let’s practice.”
“Ugh,” she mutters.
“I love you, Mirabelle.”
Huffing and eyeing me with judgment rife in her expression, she toys with the words, then—softly and shyly—she says, “As you should.”
The flurry of a smile that follows makes me so desperately wish we weren’t waiting until marriage to kiss.
But, with any luck, we won’t be waiting that long.
Chapter 25
?
This is a first. I…like it.
Mirabelle
A dinner date. A perfectly normal and regular dinner date.
I’vebeenon dinner dates before, so this isn’t a big deal.
Okay, fine. I actually have never been on adinnerdate before, because I know the rules aboutdinnersandafterwards, and since I’m not interested in all that, I have only ever gone on lunch dates with the guys I’ve considered as romantic options.
Lunches are, obviously, safer options whereby it concerns chastity.
And I am big on chastity, when I’m not being an idiot.
And I am no longer being an idiot.
I got theidiotout of my system.
I am now only being smart and wise and reasonable.
Which is why I will figure out what I’m wearing and be ready by the time Damion crosses his backyard to pick me up.
“You promised to be yourself,” I whisper at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my bathroom door. “You promised.”
I promised, and so Ihaveto dress as I normally would on a first date with someone.
Which means wearing my usual clothes.
I’ve selected a billowy skirt that shapes my nicest apron well while keeping my legs warm and one of my favorite hair scarves, which is more lace than not and dotted utterly with tiny pink flowers. My long-sleeve sweater has two peekaboo shouldersthat are wonderful for cuteness, but dreadful for mid-November warmth, which is why I’m hoping my skirt really pulls its weight.
Tangling my fingers, I stare at myself, at the dusting of light-pink makeup, at the apron, at the hair scarf.
I curled my hair. Just a little bit. Just enough for it to be a bit wavy.
I look nice.
I lookme.
