Page 7 of One S'more Time

He kisses me again, more deliberately this time, his hand sliding up to cradle my face. His thumb traces my cheekbone with such tenderness that I feel myself melting against him, all my carefully constructed walls crumbling away like sugar in hot tea.

Our romantic moment is interrupted when a certain canine interloper makes a soft "wuff." I reluctantly pull back from Nate's embrace, my lips still tingling, to find Cooper sitting there with his head tilted, those soulful eyes watching us with what I swear is canine amusement. The timing is so perfectly inconvenient that I can't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and forgotten inside me. Nate's arm stays wrapped around my waist, his warmth anchoring me as reality slowly filters back in.

"Look," he says, his voice a gentle rumble that sends pleasant shivers down my spine. "I want this. With you. I don't know how you're feeling right now, but if you're amenable, I'd like to take you out on a proper date." He looks at Cooper, who's stillwatching us with that doggy grin, and adds with mock sternness, "No dogs invited."

My heart does a little flip in my chest. A proper date. With Nate. The words hang between us, full of promise and possibility. I'm suddenly aware of how disheveled I must look—flushed cheeks, mussed hair—but the way he's looking at me makes me feel like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"I'd like that," I breathe, my voice catching slightly in my throat. "I mean, not because of the no dogs part. Sorry, Cooper. It's not that I don't like you, it's just—" I realize I'm rambling and stop myself, pressing my lips together. My cheeks flush even hotter, if that's possible. Why do I always start babbling when I'm nervous? But the warmth in Nate's eyes tells me he finds it charming rather than ridiculous, which only makes my heart beat faster. Cooper tilts his head at the sound of his name, his eyes darting between us as if he understands perfectly well what's happening here.

"There's a little restaurant in the next town over," Nate says, his voice warm and inviting. "Italian place with a homey vibe to it. Red-checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, the whole nine yards. We can go tomorrow, if you want?"

"Cicco's," I say, surprised he's mentioning my favorite spot. I've daydreamed about their homemade gnocchi more times than I care to admit—those little pillowy potato dumplings that practically melt in your mouth. I think of all the Cosmo articles I've read warning me not to be too available to a man, to play it cool and make him wait at least three days, and immediately dismiss them. Life's too short for those games, especially when someone like Nate is asking me out. "Tomorrow's great. Their tiramisu is absolutely epic." I smile, already looking forward to it more than I probably should, mentally rifling through mycloset for something that will make me feel both pretty and comfortable.

He smiles, and I'm momentarily dazed at the thought that I'm the reason. That smile transforms his whole face, reaching all the way to his eyes in a way that makes my stomach do a little flip. "I'll pick you up at seven?" he asks, and there's something in his voice—a touch of eagerness that matches my own—that makes me feel like maybe I'm not the only one counting down the hours.

"Yeah," I respond. Like the clever, witty woman that I am. Words seem to have abandoned me completely, leaving me with nothing but monosyllables and a racing heart.

Nate brings my hand to his lips, the gentle pressure sending tingles up my arm. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I'll dream about that kiss tonight." His voice has dropped lower, a private rumble meant just for me, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my knuckles.

That makes two of us. I'm already mentally replaying the feel of his mouth on mine, knowing I'll be staring at my ceiling tonight, touching my lips and wondering if this is actually happening to me.

7

CANDLELIGHT CONFESSIONS

ELLIE

Nate opens the car door for me and offers me his hand to help me steady myself. It's a good thing, too—I broke out my big-girl shoes with the heel and I'm not especially steady on my feet. Or maybe that's just proximity to him. The warmth of his palm against mine sends little sparks up my arm, and I try not to overthink the way his fingers curl protectively around mine.

He opens the restaurant door and places his hand on my lower back as he follows me in. My skin tingles where he touches me, even through the fabric of my dress. It's such a simple gesture—gentlemanly, nothing more—but my body doesn't seem to understand that, reacting like he's whispering sweet nothings instead of just being polite. I take a deep breath, hoping the butterflies in my stomach will settle down before we reach our table.

The restaurant hums with quiet conversation as Nate and I settle into our little corner at Cicco's. The candlelight flickers across his face, softening his features and highlighting those laugh lines I've come to adore. I can't help but admire how the warm glow catches in his eyes, making them seem even more attentive asthey focus on me. My dark curls fall forward as I lean in slightly, drawn to the comfortable intimacy of our table, sheltered from the rest of the world in this pocket of soft light and gentle murmurs.

My tiramisu sits half-eaten, the espresso-soaked ladyfingers forgotten as our conversation deepens. I can't remember the last time I was so engrossed in someone that dessert—my professional obsession—became an afterthought. But something about the way Nate leans in when I speak makes everything else fade to background noise. His attention feels like a physical thing, warm and solid, wrapping around my words as if each one matters.

The restaurant's chatter, the clink of silverware, even my professional foodie's instinct to analyze every bite—it all dissolves when he tilts his head just so, his expression open and genuinely interested in whatever I'm saying. I'm not used to being the focus of someone's undivided attention, especially someone whose smile creates this flutter beneath my ribs that no amount of butter and sugar has ever produced.

"I've been thinking about why I get so nervous around you," I admit, tracing the rim of my water glass. "It's not just normal first-date jitters."

Nate leans forward, giving me his full attention. "Tell me."

"After Drew left, he said some things..." I swallow hard. "He said I was too much work. Too emotional. Not worth the effort." The words still sting, even now. "And the worst part is, I started believing him."

"Ellie." My name on his lips sounds like a prayer. "That's his garbage, not yours."

I glance up, surprised by the quiet intensity in his voice. His eyes hold mine, steady and sure, without a trace of judgment. My fingers have stopped their nervous circling of the glass, and I realize I've been holding my breath.

"I spent months cataloging all my supposed flaws," I continue, my voice softer now. "Like I was some recipe that needed adjusting—too much of this, not enough of that. It's hard to shake that kind of thinking once it takes root. I'm scared of trusting someone again only to find out they're just... tolerating me."

Nate reaches across the table, his calloused fingers brushing mine. "Can I tell you something? For years, I've been 'fine.' That's what everyone says about me. Good old dependable Nate. Always fine." He shakes his head. "But fine isn't enough. I've spent my life putting out fires for other people, never really feeling the heat myself."

The vulnerability in his eyes makes my breath catch. There's something raw there that I wasn't expecting, a glimpse behind the steady exterior he presents to the world.

"I don't want fine anymore," he continues, his voice deepening with conviction. "I want messy and complicated and real. I want someone who makes me feel alive."

"Even if that someone comes with emotional baggage and flour permanently under her fingernails?" I ask, half-joking, wiggling my pastry-stained fingers for emphasis.

"Especially then." He turns my hand over, tracing the lines of my palm with a gentleness that sends warmth spreading up my arm. "I don't want to fix you, Ellie. I just want to know you."

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