Chapter 8 continuation

I love Rhett, too," she says. "He was the closest thing Brody had to a brother. We all miss him." She gets up, taking my hand. "No one misses him more than you. I know that. But this is long overdue. I won't say a word to Brody until you're ready."

"Thanks."

Shaking my hand to loosen me up, Skye says, "Now, where are you going, and what are you going to wear?"

* * *

Pausing on thesidewalk to scan my dress one last time before I go inside the restaurant, I take a deep breath. I didn't want him to pick me up at the condo. It seems more casual, and less awkward, to meet him at the restaurant than have him come to my door.

I suddenly have second thoughts. Why did I let Skye talk me into wearing a dress? Skinny jeans and a cute shirt would've been more appropriate, more me. I tell myself things will be okay, that at least my boobs look good—thanks to my new padded pushup bra, which was also Skye's suggestion.

False advertising!

Rhett Bennett, get out of my head.

When you are with someone, you have inside jokes. Things that mean something to only the two of you. One of those things for Rhett and me was padded bras. He used to tease me that my padded bras were false advertising. He thought he was getting a woman with a full C, and it turned out I'm barely a B.

My response was always the same, "No going back now."

Then he'd pick me up, kiss me, and say, "How about going down instead?"

He loved his stupid sex jokes. And I love a man who can make me laugh. Because of him, I'll never look at bras the same. It's hard to move on when even your boobs remind you of your ex.

Still, this is what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm a single, twenty-something. I should be dating, trying to find "the one." The only problem is—I found him already.

I hate that I think about him so much, but I'd hate it more if I didn't.

But now's not the time to be thinking about my ex. Standing on the sidewalk, I look up at the sign, moody lighting cascading on it. I've never been here. It's pricey and considered one of the most romantic restaurants in Charleston. Seems like a lot of pressure for a first date. Shouldn't we have gone for coffee or something first? This guy obviously wants to impress me, and I can't fault him for that.

Okay, this is it. Take a deep breath, open the door, walk inside. Nothing to it. One, two, three, here goes nothing. Before I can actually step inside, I hear my name.

I turn to find my date. He's tall with a good build. I remember him looking older, though, a touch of gray at his temples, but tonight the age difference doesn't seem as big. Maybe out of the doctor's garb and dressed in a nice suit has made him look younger. He flashes me a smile. It's that awkward moment when you aren't sure if you should do a side hug, quick hug, handshake, or kiss on the cheek hello. Instead, I do nothing but say, "Hi."

He grins at me again. This man must be easy to please. "I'm so happy you could . . ." I don't hear the rest of what he says because he holds up a long stem red rose.

My chest tightens, my skin rushes with heat, and a stream of tears immediately rush down my cheeks. I cover my mouth in an attempt to contain my cries then rush down the sidewalk away from him.