“That will be so fun.”
“You make Vayentine cake too?” she asks.
“Not tonight, but we’ll do something fun tomorrow, I promise,” he says.
“Can you tell Dylan good night?” I ask her.
“Good night,” she says.
“Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun making that cake.” He stands. “I can put these flowers in a vase, if you point the way.”
“That would be great. They’re in the bottom cabinet to the left of the sink. Chloe, can you give Dylan the flowers? He’s going to put them in water so they’ll stay nice while we go to Grammy’s.”
She hands him the flowers, and I put our coats on.
“I’ll see you in about twenty minutes,” I tell him.
He winks at me from the kitchen doorway, and I float out with Chloe.
“We saw Dyyan!” Chloe tells my mom almost as soon as we’re in the door.
Mom’s eyes meet mine. “Dylan? California Dylan?”
My cheeks flush. “Yes. He’s in town, and we’re going to dinner tonight.”
“He’s in town for Valentine’s Day? And taking you to dinner?” Her smile grows. “Is there something you want to tell me, sweetheart?”
“Not really.” I laugh. “We’re…having fun.”
It feels wrong, even as I’m saying it, but I don’t know how else to navigate this. I want to tell my mom everything—how great he is, that I have never felt like this before, that he’s quickly become very important to me—but I don’t.
Technically, I never should’ve let Chloe get to know him, but she has, and that’s as far as the circle can go.
“Well, have fun tonight,” she says, smirking at me.
“We will. You too. Chloe’s excited about the cake.”
“We might save Mama a piece. What do you think, Chloe?” Mom asks, sweeping Chloe into her arms.
“Yes,” Chloe says. “And Dyyan.”
“And Dylan too,” Mom adds, eyes sparkling.
I shoot her a look, one that tries to convey that she shouldn’t be making a big deal out of this, but she doesn’t buy it.
The night air is frigid, but Dylan’s arms encircle me as we rush inside the restaurant. The river below is dark and moving, and Owamni’s floor-to-ceiling windows and candlelight are inviting. The view of the Stone Arch Bridge is perfect, all lit up.
Dylan pulls my chair out for me, fingertips brushing my waist, just lightly enough to make my breath catch.
I’m scared to admit it, but I’ve never been happier.
“You look unbelievable,” he murmurs, sitting across from me. His knee bumps mine under the table, and the contact feels like an electric pulse straight to my ribs.
The server brings water and takes our drink order. Dylan’s fingers thread through mine, and he gazes at me.
“Feels like forever since I’ve seen you,” he says.
“It really does,” I admit.
