Page 42 of Between Regrets and Promises

When I arrive, I pull into his driveway. His house is adorable and looks well taken care of.

Weston meets me on the sidewalk with a dishrag in his hand and a smile on his face. As soon as I get close enough to smell his cologne, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I look up into his eyes, and an electric current swirls between us.

“Dinner is ready. Can’t wait for you to try it out.” He grabs my hand and leads me inside his home. Everything is pristine and clean, and I can’t stop looking around as he guides me to the kitchen where food is waiting on the stovetop.

“Wine?” he asks, and I nod as he pours us both a glass. Weston places generous portions of chicken fettuccine alfredo on two plates with garlic bread. The table is dressed up with candles and a fancy tablecloth. Looking at how much effort he put into tonight causes me to grin as he sets our plates on the table. I sit beside him and can’t stop looking at this gorgeous man over the rim of my glass.

“This is amazing,” I compliment, trying to soak in the moment. I can’t remember the last time a man cooked for me. Hell, I can’t remember the last time anyone has treated me the way Weston does—as if he cares.

“Wait until you taste it.” He winks as I finish my glass of wine.

I pick up my fork, and he waits as I take a bite. The delicious flavors fill my mouth, and I’m impressed he cooked this. “Wow.”

It doesn’t take either of us long to clean our plates. The last time I ate was breakfast earlier today, so I was starved. I got so busy I forgot to stop for lunch.

Weston refills our glasses, and he leads me to the living room and hands me the remote. “I’m gonna let you choose what we watch.”

He sits on the couch, and I plop down next to him. Our bodies are so close I can feel the warmth of him against my skin. I click on an older romcom. “This okay?”

“As long as I’m watching it with you, I don’t care what it is.”

I giggle and press play. Weston’s fingers trail on my arm, and though we’re close to one another, it’s not enough. I finish my second glass of wine, and he asks me if I want another, but I refuse. When his eyes meet mine, the urge to kiss him takes over. He stands to get himself another drink and a bottle of water for me, but when he returns and sets his glass down on the table, I pull him closer to me.

Our mouths crash together in a wave of passion and desire.

“Soph,” he whispers as his body hovers over mine. “We should take it slow. I don’t want to rush this with you.”

Gently, he brushes my hair from my face as I lift my lips back to his.

“When it feels right, it’s right,” I tell him matter-of-factly.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

I nod, my body and heart knowing, guiding, urging me forward. Weston pulls away, stands, and holds out his hand. When I take it, he leads me to the bedroom. I have zero doubts about this man, about how much I want and need him, and about how he’s the one for me. Weston doesn’t rush. He kisses me as we undress and then makes love to me.

The next morning, I wake up in his bed and am almost shocked I’m still here. He’s not lying next to me, and I pull the sheets from my naked body. I dig in the top drawer of hisdresser and slip on a T-shirt, then walk through the house where he’s cooking breakfast for us.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He smirks. I lean against the doorway and admire the muscles that ripple down his back. Weston is gorgeous as hell with his six-pack and sexy V that goes all the way down to his wonderful package.

He scoops some eggs and bacon on two plates, then leans forward and kisses me when he comes close, and I’m ready for my second helping ofhim.

As we’re eating, we share stolen glances and knowing smirks.

“You know you’re mine now, Soph,” he tells me sweetly. “I don’t want any other man to have you.”

“I just want you, Weston. I can tell you that,” I say, confidently.

Looking at him, our future flashes before my eyes, and it’s so damn beautiful. Me and him, little feet pitter-pattering on the hardwood floor, and a dog. All that’s missing is the white picket fence.

“What’re you doing on New Year’s Eve?” I ask nervously.

“Nothing yet. I don’t have any plans.”

“Want to go to a party with me? I want you to meet everyone.”

“I’d love to join you, sweetheart.”

It’s the next step in our relationship, for him to meet the people I care about the most. And God, I hope they like him as much as I do.

---