Fallon
I spent way too much time getting ready.
Which was ridiculous. This wasn’t a date.
It was dinner — a business transaction wrapped in good intentions and lingering tension. Nothing more.
But that didn’t stop me from changing my dress three times. Or from standing in front of my mirror, second-guessing my lipstick and smoothing my hands over the soft fabric of the midnight blue slip dress I’d finally settled on. It draped just right, the silky material clinging in places I wanted it to and flowing everywhere else.
It wasn’t too much. It wasn’t trying too hard.
But the nerves fluttering in my stomach told me it was still more effort than I should’ve put into a night with a man who barely spoke to me.
It’s just dinner, I told myself. A peace offering. Nothing more.
Still… when I
