Page 78 of The Affair
Sawyer wasn’t just casually popping over to bombard me with a flurry of questions or to help me with my grandmother’s journal. There would be no couches and blankets to hide behind, no dinner preparation to occupy us.
Nope.
Just the two of us. In a restaurant. With actual people.
“Holy crap on a cracker, what was I thinking?” I asked the dead plant in my living room.
It had no answers. Mostly because it was plant. And it was dead.
Okay, I just needed to keep calm.
I needed to keep calm and make a list.
To-do lists always kept me cool under pressure.
So, first things first.
What did one do to prepare for a date? It had been ages since I’d actually been on one, so my knowledge was rusty at best, but thanks to my heavy dose of Netflix bingeing, I’d watched just about every romantic comedy known to man in the last few months.
And if there was one thing rom-coms were known for, it was a glow-up montage—an opportunity for the heroine to go from zero to hottie in under a minute, making her downright irresistible to her potential mate.
The upside to this cheesy cliché was that it gave this rusty heroine the refresher she needed.
And the first thing I needed was makeup.
Lots of makeup. My dress was obviously already picked out. Hopefully, the weeks of pizza-eating wouldn’t cause me to bust the zipper. I guessed we’d soon find out.
Taking the steps two at a time, I marched my butt into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I wasn’t sure why; I didn’t particularly need a shower. I’d taken one that morning, and to be honest, I wasn’t that sweaty from my mini freak-out, but the idea of hot, running water soothed me.
And I needed some soothing.
Of course, I didn’t think about the fact that hot water on top of my hair would also constitute me having to restyle it.
“Shit!” I yelled the moment the water hit my nearly perfect curls.
Well, too late now. I guessed I should add a blow-dry and a curling session to my list of things to do.
Now that I’d basically doubled my to-do list, the soothing feeling of the shower did little for my stress relief. Finishing up quickly, I dried up, threw my now-sopping-wet hair into a towel, and found my way into my bedroom.
Plopping down on the bed, I let out a heavy sigh.
Why did people do this?
Was it worth it to get all dressed up, put on a crap-ton of makeup, and spend a fortune on dinner, only to have a few hours alone with someone?
Thinking about those few brief moments with Sawyer today—the way his eyes had lit up when we spoke, the heavenly feeling of his hands on my body—I couldn’t help but smile.
Yeah, it was worth it.
It was definitely worth it.
Feeling a bit more confident now, I took a deep breath and got up. Heading for the closet, I pulled out the black dress Sawyer had mentioned and walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner by the dresser. Holding the dress up, I tried to remember the last time I had worn it.
Had I ever worn it?
I’d picked it up on a trip to Asheville—a girls’ trip back when life was simpler and I had time to spend on things like frivolous weekends away.
A friend of mine had talked me into it; she’d said it made me look hot, but “not in a slutty way.” I’d just liked the way the material felt against my body. Taking it home, I’d planned on wearing it at the next big event Reed and I attended, but none ever came.
