Hell, he’s even hired a private chef.
I don’t know what the big occasion is, but hey, I’m rolling with it. Shane is just so sweet and thoughtful all of the time. I can certainly see him setting something like this up to make up for him being distracted lately.
I love that even though he has so much on his mind, he still prioritizes us.
Damn, I just love that man.
He told me we don’t have to get overly dressed up for this dinner. But since he slipped and divulged that he’s wearing his nicest black pants and a forest green button-down dress shirt, one that I adore on him because it really brings out his emerald eyes, I’m going with a black knit sweater dress and matchingsuede boots.
I’m actually pulling on the boots now, up in our bedroom.
Shane is outside. I’m guessing he’s making sure everything is just right.
In any case, I’m not supposed to come out till seven.
I check the time and see it’s five minutes till.
“Time to head down,” I murmur.
I’m so curious about so much. Shane wouldn’t even tell me what we’re having for dinner. I kind of hope it’s filet mignon paired with a lobster tail. That’s one of my very favorite meals.
Still, I’ll be happy with anything.
I make my way downstairs, but before I can slide open the glass door leading to the back patio, Shane is here, opening it for me.
He holds out his hand, and I take it as he says, “My lady. You look beautiful tonight.”
“Wow, thank you. I feel special already.”
“Good,” he replies. “That’s what tonight is all about. I want it to be an evening to remember.”
Hand in hand with Shane, I step out onto the patio and…wow!
“This is amazing!” I exclaim. “Everything looks so…so…magical.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says.
“Like it?” I scoff. “I love it.”
It’s dark, but there are soft white fairy lights strung all around, the pool water reflecting them and making it seem as if there are even more than the surely hundreds.
It’s just gorgeous.
A bit over from the pool, positioned for more of a mountain view, there’s a white cloth-covered table with a spattering of strategically placed candles on top, two full place settings, and a silver wine bucket in a stand off to the side.
Shane leads me over to the table and pulls out my chair.
“Thank you,” I say as I sit down.
He takes a seat across from me, and we both place our cloth napkins on our laps. Shane proceeds to uncork the bottle of white wine that’s in the bucket and pours us each a small amount.
As I take a sip—oh, and it is divine—the private chef emerges from a side door leading to our kitchen.
After greeting us, the middle-aged man hands us a small card with the menu for this evening. I don’t read it, though, as I want to be surprised. However, I do set it aside to save as a reminder of this already wonderful night.
“We will begin with a tomato velouté soup,” the chef informs us.
When he steps away, I lean forward and whisper to Shane, “I don’t even know what that is, but it sounds fancy.”
