Page 48 of Domino
“You look pretty good,” I tell him.
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Pretty good?”
“Yeah, pretty good. I’m totally not going to overinflate your already healthy ego by telling you that you look incredible. I don’t know that I could bear it.”
“Ahhh… so you think I look incredible.”
“That’s not what I said.”
He shrugs. “It’s what I heard. It was in the subtext of what you said.”
I laugh and slap him playfully on the arm knowing that he got me, that it was in the subtext of what I said. The jerk. When my laughter tapers off, he is looking at me with an expression of earnest sincerity on his face.
“If I had to pick one word to describe you, it would be ethereal,” he says. “You are absolutely radiant.”
His words make my eyes well with tears and I turn away from him, trying to wipe them away so they don’t ruin my makeup. I’m wearing a simple vintage style blue dress with white polka dots that hangs to my knees, and a white belt around my waist. My hair is pulled back into a simple ponytail and I’ve got a white cardigan draped around my shoulders. I don’t exactly feel ethereal or radiant.
He takes my arm gently and turns me back to him and I look up into eyes that are brimming with compassion.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he says.
I shake my head. “You didn’t upset me. It’s just… it’s been a really long time since somebody said that to me, and it hit me harder than I expected.”
His smile is gentle, his expression kind. “Well let’s go have a glass of wine, some good food, and a few laughs.”
I sniff back the tears and nod. “That sounds amazing.”
Max offers me his arm and I slip mine through his, letting him lead me up the walk and into the restaurant.
Chapter Eighteen
Domino
After a dinner that delivered everything I promised, good food, good wine, and a lot of laughter, we’re walking down Harrison Avenue arm in arm together. It really has been a long time since I’ve been on a date, and I have to say, as weird as it all feels, it also feels really nice. I’ve had a better time with Ashley than I anticipated.
“I have a confession,” I tell her.
“Uh-oh. Already? I thought confessions were usually a second or third date thing.”
“Oh, so you’re already planning future dates?”
“That’s not what I said. I just said I thought that’s when confessions were usually made. Not on a first date.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Are you always so precise with language?”
“As a future counselor, it’s kind of my job. Have to see through people’s hidden meanings and all that, you know?”
“Fair enough.”
“So, confess. I hear it’s good for the soul.”
I give her a sly smirk. “When you slipped me your number, I thought you were giving me a fake.”
“Now, why would I do that?”
“To get me to back off.”
She chuffs. “Right. As if that would have done anything. I’m sure if I’d given you a fake, you would have been twice as obnoxious in trying to get me to go out with you. I gave you my number as a matter of self-defense.”
