Page 88 of Whispered Promises

A soft smile looks back at me, agreeing.

“I love it,” Steph says with a smile, sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed.

“Thank you,” I smile back. “I just need to put on a bit of makeup, then I’m ready. How much time do I have left?

She checks her phone. “Fifteen minutes, but I can message for you if you need more time?”

“No, that’s plenty. Thanks,” I say, rushing into the shared bathroom.

I was only planning to top up what I’d already put on this morning for work, but as I open my makeup bag, I snag the eyeshadow palette. It’s rarely used and still mostly full. My typical go-to is tinted moisturiser, mascara, and some brow gel. But I’m feeling good, and that feeling is pushing me to add in some eyeshadow too.

Selecting a cool grey, I brush it onto my lid, buffing and blending…pretending to know what I’m doing, before selecting a darker shade and adding it to my crease. Lastly, I dab on a little silver, then swipe on some more mascara.

The final look is…better than I expected.

My stomach flutters and twists as I wash my hands and walk back into the open living area.

A wolf whistle startles me.

“Looking stunning,” Steph praises, handing me my coat and bag. “Promise to enjoy yourself? Unless he starts being a dick, then you can hate it and come home.”

Tugging on my coat and buttoning it up, I chuckle, rolling my eyes but still appreciating her. “Enjoy myself, got it. I can do that. Wait, what if I forget my small talk questions to fill any silences?”

She blinks at me, rolling her lips in as she sniggers. “You just talk about whatever you feel like. You’ll have thoughts in your head, and you can just roll with it. But if in doubt, ask him something about his job. Or his interests.”

Crapsicles. Why am I this awkward?

The doorbell rings, and I squeak. A moment passes, and Steph and I still face each other, motionless.

“Are you going to answer it?” she asks, brow rising expectantly.

“Oh, yeah. I got it. I’ll see you later? If you forget anything, or if anything happens, call me? Moshi will need his dinner in a few hours, but I should be home in time.” I frown, worried in case I’ve missed anything.

“Yup, you’ve already said all of this. Stop stalling, I’ve got this. Now, go.” She pushes me to the door, opening it so I’m faced with my date.

“Hi.” I smile, feeling some of the worry ease and ebb away at his smile. It’s just Noah, not a stranger.

“Hi, Rosy. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, all set.”

“Here, let me,” Noah offers, and tugs out a chair, waiting for me to sit at the small, square two-seater table we’ve been guided to.

“Thank you.” I smile up at him as he walks around to his seat, embracing the small flutters at his sweet gesture.

“Good evening. My name is Matteo, and I’m your server this evening. Here are the menus, and our specials are here.” He points to the small, separate card with a handful of options. “I’ll be back shortly to take your drink order.”

We both mutter our thanks, and I drop my head to read the meal options, a little unsure how to start the conversation now that we’re alone.

Alone as you can be in a restaurant. Even though there are other diners here tonight, it’s still oddly intimate. Noah’s chosen a quaint Sicilian place; it’s warm and welcoming. As soon as we walked in, we were greeted with open smiles, and our coats were taken. The walls are an embracing, earthy cream with shelving containing an array of pretty bottles, vases, and plants. Scattered lighting hangs low over the tables; curved wooden chairs and terracotta-coloured tiles line the space.

“You look beautiful,” Noah says, pulling me from my wandering interest.

I duck my head, and a flush warms my cheeks. “You do too.”

Which he does; in a deep navy shirt that complements his dark brown hair, smart camel-coloured trousers, and a pair of brown brogues.

He reaches across the table and places his hand over mine, then squeezes gently. “Thank you. This is just us, though, Rosy. You don’t need to be nervous or unsure. It’s just us eating dinner together. But if you’re uncomfortable, we can go back and eat at home.” Even though there’s no frustration in his tone, my shoulders slump.