Page 89 of The Golden Scoop

Things are moving fast. Clearly. But this sense of safety? That’s new. Unfamiliar enough it should probably concern me more than it does. Within an hour, I already miss him. The teasing. The jokes. The compliments I pretend to hate. The bickering I absolutely don’t.

And that’s when it hits me.

I can see it. Not just next week, or a year from now. Something longer, real. A possible future together.

Inconvenient, because not being just ‘a little into him’ means I’m in trouble.

As if I summoned him—again—my phone lights up.

My man

I have a surprise for you tonight. Are you free?

That sounds suspicious.

Usually, I hate surprises. Being let down is not on my bucket list, and I’d much rather know what I’m walking into. It’s why my parents never brought our Christmas gifts into the house early. I was Santa’s last stop. No exceptions.

My man

You’ll have to dress up.

Now I’m definitely suspicious.

My man

I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll pick you up at seven.

Trust me, you’ll love it.

This time, it feels different. Because with every time he asks, I do so a tiny bit more.

Getting ready takes me longer than usual. I know Matt’s going to be a gentleman no matter what I wear, but I want to impress him. To show him I’m just as invested in… whatever this is as much as him.

That means showing up. Putting in the effort. And, most difficult of all, being honest about my feelings.

When he knocks on my door, his reaction has changed from other times. He’s less open-mouthed, more cherishing the sight. As if now that something potentially real is developing between us, he’s scared I’m going to disappear in front of his eyes.

“Goddamn, Mills. You’re glowing.” His hands come up, but instead of hovering, he pulls me into a hug. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get tired of taking you out.”

“You clean up nice yourself,” I mutter into his chest.

He’s wearing dark tailored pants and a fitted black button-down, sleeves rolled up enough to make it unfair. No tie. No jacket.

My burgundy dress and gold heels seem to match the tone of the evening. I sigh of relief, and maybe to finally have him here.

My face stays pressed against his chest. The mix of leather and spice clinging to his skin send a warm ripple through my chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, grounding myself in the moment.

In him.

In how safe it feels.

“Just nice?” he asks, pulling back, arms still loosely around me.

“Don’t get used to compliments,” I tease.

“Too late,” he shoots back. “Should’ve thought about that before you climbed onto my lap yesterday. No better compliment than that.”

The valet takes the keys to Matt’s sport car—entirely too pleased about the thirty-second joyride to the parking garage—as we step up to the entrance of Marble & Ember. It’s one of the most expensive restaurants in L.A., known for premium cuts of steak and imported Italian wine. Easily the fanciest place I’ve ever been to.