Page 118 of Rome: The Ballerina

Beginning a new chapter in my story.

I pressed my heel into the ground, halting all movement. Labored breathing lifted and caved my chest dramatically.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

My feet moved across the openness, unstoppable. It wasn’t until I was in front of him. I spread my arms, bowed my head, and bent my knees.

Bowing.

Gracefully.

Happily.

Willingly.

Not for the moment, alone, but for the person I was sharing it with as well.

“Thank you.”

“Beautiful, baby.”

Saint pulled out a chair, extending his hand and silently instructing me to sit. I obliged, taking my seat. He took his as well. Right across the table. But, still,too far.

I laid my arm across the table. Even with my mother’s chastising words for lacking table manners appearing in the back of my head, I pushed forward, requesting Saint’s hand. Rescuing me from the cold of his absence, his fingertips warmed my entire frame.

Slowly, he ran them along my skin. His eyes were on me. My heart was on him. Heavily. Happily.

Unable to match his gaze, my eyes lowered. He was too good. He was too real. He was too perfect. I stared at the wood on the table, realizing we hadn’t been given menus.

“Don’t worry your head, Mellow. It’s taken care of.”

As the words left his mouth, our waitress appeared.

“Water, ma’am.”

She lowered a glass of water in front of me.

“And, for you sir, an Old Fashion.”

“Thank you,” Saint replied, eyes still fixed on me.

“And– your appetizer. Your dinner will be out shortly.”

“No drink for me?”

“You’re not a drinker, Rome.”

“You noticed?” I chuckled.

“I did. You ordered two drinks on our first date and had the hardest time getting down the first one. The second one was picked up with the rest of our food.”

I nodded, confirming the details as I lifted the silver lid from the appetizer of Saint’s choice.

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