Page 156 of Until I Own You

Bridget sits across the table from me.

And she is mine.

And everyone who matters knows.

Yes, a first date is in order. Dating in general is in order.

But my hopes are high. Because when our eyes catch across the table and her impulse is to look away, she pauses, then returns to me.

Although we have already exchanged words of love, I don’t need them now to feel it in her gaze. Clear and bright.

My only regret is it took this long to get here.

Better than never getting here at all.

My life will not be dedicated to suffering. No.

My life, from here on out, will be dedicated to Bridget.

29

BRIDGET

The restaurant is empty, save a single table at the center of the floor.

Windows surround the room, including a series of skylights, casting every inch of space in warm pink and orange light from the Manhattan sunset.

What takes my breath away, though, is Seth. A vision in a slim fitting brown, plaid suit, complete with a tie and matching pocket square. Like he’s just stepped off a runway in Milan, looking the appropriate amount of scruffy and suave at once, and his hair looks desperate for my hands to run through.

Damn, he looks so good.

He stands beside the table, holding a bouquet of roses because, of course, he is. And just because roses are cliché doesn’t mean I’m still not swooning over them.

“Don’t just stand there, Bridget,” he says with a half-smile.

I realize I’ve been frozen in place, captivated by his presence, his beauty.

I haven’t even said hello. But when he calls for me, I go to him. Try to remain steady and graceful, though excitement roils in my gut.

We haven’t seen each other in a week. Since the night Seth told my father we wanted us to be together. Didn’t want to give my father a full heart attack by leaving at close to midnight to spend the night with Seth.

It turned out to be good I didn’t go home with him. We decided to take the time apart, build the anticipation to see each other, give us the clarity of mind to really determine if we still wanted to do this.

My feelings haven’t changed. Not for a single moment.

When I reach Seth, so eager for a kiss, he slides his arm around my waist, the flowers cradled between us, and presses his lips so soft to mine I think I might die from how tender he is with me.

He pulls away first, catches my eyes before I’m able to look away. And he smiles in a way that I only started seeing over the past few weeks.

A smile that allows me to see his unsureness. His excitement. His hope. “These are for you.” He lets out an awkward half laugh. “Obviously.”

I take the bouquet in my arms, cradling them almost like a baby. “Thank you.”

I’ve never smelled roses like these. The scent is so strong, yet fresh and natural. Not at all nauseating. “They’re beautiful.”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

I flush. Corny as hell. But I love it.

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