What time does Chloe go to bed?
Ella
Usually around seven thirty.
Why?
I smile to myself, walking through my house until I reach the kitchen. I love these little interactions with her. I love the way she questions everything, as long as she isn’t questioning herself. Ella surprised me the other night with her admitting she liked knowing I told Austin about her. She had a renewed sense ofconfidence I hadn’t seen in her before. It looks good on her, even if it’s something she isn’t comfortable with yet.
I have an idea, but if you don’t like it, we can always reschedule.
She doesn’t respond immediately and when she does, the corners of my lips stretch farther.
Ella
Don’t keep me waiting here.
Since you can’t go to dinner, I was thinkin’ what about if I were to bring dinner to you.
We can get takeout from wherever you’d like and I’ll bring it over after Chloe is asleep.
It feels like an eternity as I wait for her response. My phone vibrates and I quickly check it, expecting it to be her, but it’s only my brother telling me about the hay shipment coming in. I type out a message to him and Ella texts me back. I abandon the conversation with Cade entirely.
Ella
That actually sounds really nice. Could we get tacos or something like that?
A weight lifts from my chest and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in.
Absolutely. Let me know when Chloe is in bed and I’ll come over.
Ella
It’s not a date.
Goddamn her and the things she’s doing to my heart.
Just dinner.
Ella texted me a little after seven thirty and I already had an order placed with takeout to pick up on my way to her house. I saved her address from the last time and timed my route accordingly so I would be pulling into her driveway a little after eight.
And I’m right on time as I park my truck behind her car.
All of the lights look like they’re off inside, but the light on her front porch shines brightly above me as I walk up the steps towards her door. Ella opens it when I reach the top step and I swear my heart skips three beats in a row.
Her hair is pulled back in a French braid and she’s wearing a pair of soft black shorts and a simple white t-shirt. There’s the smallest amount of makeup on her face, enough to illuminate her already strikingly beautiful features.
“Hey cowboy.”
I stop in front of her, holding out a small bouquet of flowers. “Hey darlin’.”
“What are these?” she questions me as she hesitantly takes the bundle of daisy’s from my hand. “We agreed this wasn’t a date, Wild.”
I tilt my head to the side, feigning a look of innocence. “It’s not a date.”
“So, why the flowers?”
I shrug with a whole hearted attempt at appearing indifferent. The acrobatic routine my stomach is doing says otherwise. “Because it’s not a date.”
