But I can’t stop thinking about that article. Thathe makes herline.
I’d look nice without the hair scarf and apron. I’d not havepockets, though. That’s a big reason why I am always in my aprons. They havepockets. Nice, big, wonderfulpockets. And skirts, often, do not…
Pulling my phone out of one such big wonderful pocket, I gulp. I have two minutes to be at the door.
Blowing out a breath, I tuck my phone back in my pocket, exit the bathroom, and get my purse. If this relationship goes anywhere, I will need to get past the media nonsense and come out the other end as me.
The second that thought runs through my brain, I stop in the hall and blink. When was the last time I concerned myself over coming out the other end of something asme? I can’t remember ever thinking that. For as long as I can remember, I think I’ve always defaulted to getting through something by making sure that other people were most comfortable at the end.
The hairs on my arms and legs rise as I swallow, take a breath, head toward the door to wait.
It’s a bit scary to approach this with something to lose, with something I care about losing. But, in a way, when the something I care about losing ismyself, it’s also refreshing.
It has been so long since I cared about losing myself.
So long since my heart has felt this light.
This hopeful.
This frightened.
It trips when Damion knocks, and I fortify myself to open the door.
Handsome as ever, he also looks likehim. No fancy suit. No exaggerated pomp. Just him. In a pair of usual nice slacks and a well-fitted sweater.
His severe expression settles, melting, to accommodate a soft smile, and my chest squeezes. He murmurs, “You look beautiful.”
“It’s just my normal clothes.” I touch my cheek. “And some makeup. But…”
“You always look beautiful. I’ve always thought so. It was the first thing I thought when I saw you.” He swears, “—she’s beautiful. They let housekeepers be this pretty down here? I gotta rent this place next year.” He tugs at the collar of his sweater. “By the end of my first vacation, I’d booked the place for the next five summers. By the end of the second, I was making plans to buy it. By the end of the third, I only left so I could make arrangements to move. And all because you were so pretty in yournormal clothes, I couldn’t drag my eyes off you.” He extends his hand before I can regain my breath. “Shall we?”
Eyes stuck on him, I lift my hand and let my fingers find the warmth of his skin before I whisper, “We shall.”
Bending, he touches his smile to my knuckles in a kiss, then leads me to his car, and my first ever date…asme…begins.
?
“So…” I blink at my pasta in the low lights of Viano’s Neighborhood Italian, then I jerk my attention back up, to my date. “Sorry. Context. It took me an entire car ride, ordering, and the appetizer to process what you said when you picked me up.”
Mouth full of chicken marsala, Damion looks up at me and arches a brow.
“You moved…because of me?”
He swallows. “Yeah.”
How positively casual an answer.
I find myself leaning over my garlic butter broccoli and baked ziti. “No, no. I mean. Youmovedforme?”
He blinks. “Yes. I moved, for you.”
I stare at him. “You packed up your life in…”
“New York.”
“New York.” I swallow, wet my lips. “And moved to…”
Humor courts the corner of his mouth. “Amarella, Georgia.”
