Page 28 of Silver Flirt

I wanted everything to be absolutely flawless before she laid eyes on it - the decor, the ambiance, the menu. I even closed the entire bar down today. I needed it to live up to the vision I described to her over our long phone calls.

“Well, what do you think?” I ask, nerves fluttering in my gut as I gesture around the space. “Does it match the picture I painted in that overactive imagination of yours?”

Melissa steps out of my embrace, moving further into the bar.

Her gaze roams over the polished mahogany, the vintage baseball prints, the gleaming bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. I watch her take it all in, holding my breath.

“Bash, this place is incredible,” she gushes, running her hand along the gleaming wood. “I can’t believe you did all this yourself.”

“Well, I had some help,” I admit with a grin. “But yeah, it’s been a labor of love. Somewhere I could make my own, you know?”

She nods, understanding shining in her eyes. “I get that. It suits you perfectly.”

She stops in front of a large black and white photo of me mid-pitch, Guardians jersey stretched tight across my shoulders.

“I remember this game,” she murmurs, fingertips grazing the glass. “It was the night you threw that perfect game against the Red Sox. Gosh, you were incredible to watch.”

I quirk an eyebrow at her. “You remember that game?”

“I remember all of them. I watched every single one of your games,” Melissa confesses softly. “Even when I told everyone I hated you. I never missed one.”

Emotion clogs my throat. Fuck, even when she hated my guts, she still cared. Still supported me in her own way. I swallow hard.

“I wish I had known that back then,” I rasp. “It would have meant the world to me.”

“Well, you know now,” she says simply, squeezing my hand.

I lead her towards the back of the bar, to a small nook I’ve been saving for last. It’s a framed photo of us sitting in the library during one of our tutoring sessions, looking young and bright-eyed and so damn hopeful.

“You kept this? All this time?” Melissa whispers, fingers hovering over the glass reverently.

“Of course I did,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around her from behind and propping my chin on her shoulder. “It’s my favorite picture of us. Of you.”

I’ve carried that picture with me for years, through every up and down. A reminder of what I lost. What I’m determined to win back.

She turns in my embrace, looping her arms around my neck. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny.

“I don’t know what to say,” she breathes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I assure her, cupping her face tenderly. “Just let me show you how much you mean to me, starting with dinner.”

I take her hand and lead her upstairs to the deck, anticipation buzzing through my veins. When we step outside, Melissa gasps. A table set for two awaits, complete with flickering candles and a single red rose in a delicate vase.

“Oh, Bash... it’s perfect,” she breathes, wonder shining in her eyes as she takes it all in. “You did this for me?”

“Of course I did, baby,” I reply gruffly, my throat tightening with emotion. I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

She blinks rapidly, and I realize she’s fighting back tears.

Ah hell. The last thing I want is to make her cry, even happy tears. I pull her into my arms, nuzzling her temple. “Hey now, none of that. Tonight’s about making new memories, baby. Not dwelling on the old ones.”

Melissa nods against my chest before tilting her head back to meet my gaze. “You’re right. I’m just overwhelmed. In the best possible way.”

I pull her chair out and she settles into it, her dress riding up to reveal a tantalizing stretch of toned thigh. Then I pour us each a glass of her favorite Moscato before taking my seat across from her.

“Did you cook this yourself?” she asks, eyeing the spread appreciatively.

“You know it, babe. Nothing but the best for my girl.”

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