I finish putting the necessities in my clutch purse. "Do you think I'll need a jacket?"
"Nah. I think a wrap will be fine. Go with the silver. Complete the ensemble," she suggests.
"Good eye. It's a good thing I have you."
The doorbell rings. My eyes widen as I look to the clock.
Shannon whistles. "He's five minutes early. Serious business."
"Oh my. You answer. I'll come out in a minute or two."
"It shall be my pleasure, Cinderella," Shannon replies before walking out of my room.
I hear muted voices—Derrick's deep voice. Butterflies. I take one last look in the mirror.
"You can do this."
I nod at myself, then pick up my purse and wrap and make my way to the living room.
I wasn't prepared. I stop just outside the room where he's talking to Shannon. He's looking at photos on the shelf on the far wall, his back to me. He's wearing a gray suit. It's sleek and fits him perfectly. His hair combed neatly with just a few tufts sticking up in the front.
I really, really wasn't prepared.
"Oh, there she is," Shannon announces.
Derrick turns around. His curious expression quickly turning to one of heat. Those dark eyes darken even more.
He walks to me. "You're beautiful."
I can feel the blush. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."
"I brought you flowers," he tells me, handing me a beautiful bouquet.
"Oh, Derrick, these are so pretty. Thank you."
He nods.
Shannon steps forward. "I'll put those in water for you. You don't want to be late for your reservation."
"Thank you," I tell her. She smiles. When Derrick turns to lead me to the door Shannon does a happy dance and mouths, "He's so totally hot for you." I fight the urge to laugh so I just smile and wave her off.
"Have fun you two," she tells us just before Derrick closes the door behind me.
The ride to the restaurant is quick. I don't live far, but we fill the silence with work conversation. It's comfortable.
When a car cuts Derrick off, I yell, "What the fuck, dude? Are you blind?"
Derrick looks over and starts laughing.
I look at him and grin. "What?"
"I never would have imagined it. You're a road-rager," he tells me through chuckles.
"I'm not a rager. I just don't stand for idiots," I tell him.
He laughs even more. "You're so a rager."
I huff. "I don't even know why I was trying to deny it. I totally am. I'm a middle-finger-get-the-fuck-outta-my-way chick."
