Page 52 of Lonely Heart

A real date.

It was how he wanted to spend his birthday. I felt like I was dreaming, like my mind was playing tricks on me, and I was going to wake up at any moment.

I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

After more than a week filled with questions and worries about everything I’d blurted to Marco and how he felt about it, I’d finally gotten some confirmation that there wasn’t anything to be concerned about.

He wasn’t repulsed by it. He didn’t think I was weird or crazy.

Nope.

Marco wanted to take me out.

It was going to be my first date in years. I could hardly wait. I tried to contain my excitement and failed miserably. But that might have been because I finally told myself I didn’t need to contain it.

Why shouldn’t I be happy about this?

While I’d known Marco for years, it was only over the last couple of weeks that something changed for us. I enjoyed being around him. I liked the way he made me feel. And if I was honest, I couldn’t wait to have the time to talk to him tonight about all of it.

Despite having experienced a restless night last night, I didn’t feel an ounce of exhaustion. I wasn’t the least bit tired. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

When I rolled out of bed this morning, I took care of a few household chores before I did something I hadn’t done in weeks. I left my house to go somewhere that wasn’t work, and I’d done it on my own.

I avoided downtown, though. But even doing that, I still felt uneasy being out on my own. It didn’t seem to matter that the sun was out.

Looking on the bright side was the only thing I could bring myself to do. I took a step back and realized what this was. If it hadn’t been for the fact I wanted to get Marco something special for his birthday, I wouldn’t have left the confines of my house.

I tried not to think too much about it, neither before nor after I’d accomplished that task. Maybe I should have considered it, reflected on how much strength it had taken for me to do it. The only thought I’d had about it was what Marco would say about it if he knew.

Once I’d gotten what I’d gone out for, I immediately returned home. And two hours before Marco was set to arrive to pick me up, I started getting myself ready for our date. I didn’t want to rush myself. I wanted to take my time and relish the experience.After so many years, it was nice to be able to do this again, especially with someone I already felt comfortable with.

As I showered, shaved, fixed my hair, did my makeup, and got myself dressed, I continued to be consumed by thoughts of Marco. I recalled everything from last night’s encounter. I remembered him coming over for dinner and kissing the tip of my finger at the woodcarving class. My mind even happily wandered to the night in the hotel, reliving those sweet and tender moments with him.

For the first time in a very long time, being lost inside my own head was a good place to be. I didn’t feel sad or lonely or defeated. I was happy, encouraged. I was excited about whatever was in store for me tonight. And I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if Marco was feeling any of the same excitement as me.

When the knock came at my door three minutes before the time he’d told me he’d be there, I took that to mean Marco was just as enthusiastic about tonight as I was, that he was just as eager to see me.

With a smile on my face and a pounding heart, I gave myself one final look in the mirror before heading to the door.

If everything that had been running through my mind all day had been moments with Marco I’d committed to memory because they left me feeling so good about how he felt about me, what happened when I opened the door to him was something I’d never forget.

I hadn’t managed to even greet him, to say a single word, when he reacted. Marco reached a hand up behind his neck and squeezed as he hissed, “Fuck me.”

I stood frozen there, wide-eyed and uncertain. In all the thoughts that flitted through my mind during the course of the day, I hadn’t once considered what would happen when he arrived to pick me up.

“Is… are you?—”

“You look beautiful, Ivy,” he said, cutting me off. Warmth spread through my body, and I watched as Marco looked away for mere seconds before he gave himself permission to take me in completely. His intense gaze started at my feet and darkened as it drifted up my legs and over my hips. By the time he’d made it to my breasts, I could have sworn I saw the change in his breathing. And when his focus shifted to my face, his eyes meeting mine, he croaked, “You’re gorgeous.”

Under the intense scrutiny of that hungry gaze, a flush crept over my skin. Marco was like a man starved; I would have given anything to know what was happening inside his head.

My eyes took him in—every tall, powerful, and breathtaking inch of him—and my lips curved into a smile. “You’re quite stunning yourself.”

Although he hadn’t hesitated to share precisely what he thought of seeing me like this, I couldn’t miss the way one of Marco’s hands balled into a fist at his sides, like he was doing everything he could to restrain himself. His other hand was holding a bouquet.

I inclined my head toward them. “Are those for me?”

He held the flowers out to me. “I wish I’d gotten you some sooner than this.”