Page 38 of The One I Love
I let out a half laugh, half snort. “Easier said than done.”
Whitley sits on the bed and pats the now empty spot next to it. “Come here. Let’s chat.”
“Don’t make me freak out or cry. Shane’s going to be here any minute.”
“I’ll do my best.” She takes my hand and cups it with both of hers. “Are you freaking out because it’s a date? Or because it’s a date with Shane?”
“Both.”
“That’s fair. And what I figured you’d say. Let’s break this down in little chunks then. Let’s start with that it’s a date. Why are you freaking out?”
“Because…” One would think that the more I say this out loud the easier it would be to admit. It’s not. “I’ve been on very few dates since the divorce. None of those became a relationship.”
“Okay, so not a lot of dating history…”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Listen. Dating sucks.”
“Gee. Way to make me feel better.”
“Let me finish. Dating sucks when it’s a first date with a stranger. The conversation is dull. You feel like you’re on a job interview. You’re analyzing every little thing he says or does or wears because you are trying to see if he’s worth a second date—and he’s doing it to you too. Oh, and be ready to talk about all your favorites—colors, food, movies, books, the whole thing.”
“Sounds horrible.”
“It is. However, you’re getting out of that tonight.”
I give my head a little shake because she’s lost me. “I am?”
Whitley gives me a reassuring smile. “You are. Because it’s Shane. Who better to go on a first date with than a man you’ve known your whole life?”
I didn’t think about it like that. “You’re right. We know all that stuff about each other, but it’s still Shane. Shane!”
“Yes, Shane. So?”
“So…” I look in the mirror one more time. “What if it doesn’t go well? What if the wedding was a flash in the pan? What if we go out tonight and it’s a dud?”
Whitley gives my hand one more squeeze. “Then you know. You won’t have to wonder.”
She’s right. This is the whole point of the test. I need to stop freaking out, put on my big girl panties, and try to have a good time.
A knock on the door brushes my fledgling positive thoughts away like dry leaves in a wind gust.
“He’s here.”
Whitley smiles and hands me a purse. Also Mariah’s, because I don’t own one. “Here. I’ll hide until you leave then I’ll lock up. Please, go have fun. You, more than anyone I know, deserves it.”
“Thank you.” I hug Whitley and take one more deep breath for reassurance.
Here goes nothing…
When I open my front door, my mouth goes dry. I don’t think I can form words. Shane looks, as Whitley said earlier, hot as fuck. His jeans are dark and fashionable. He’s wearing a long, white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The nurse in me can’t stop staring at his veins. The woman in me can’t either. His cologne is just as intoxicating as I remember, and the smile on his face is melting me into a puddle.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Hi.” I swallow the lump that keeps coming back in my throat.
His smile grows as he holds out his hand for me, which I give him without hesitation.
