Isabella
By the time I left the hospital that afternoon, I had convinced myself at least twelve different times that this wasn't a date.
It wasn't.
We weren't going anywhere romantic, and we weren't celebrating anything. We were simply... talking.
That was all.
Unfortunately, repeating it over and over inside my head didn't stop me from standing in front of my bedroom mirror nearly an hour later, frowning at my reflection like it had personally offended me.
I adjusted the hem of my dress, stepped back and adjusted it again.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered.
I lifted a hand to smooth my hair, only to immediately undo what I'd just done because it suddenly looked too flat.
No, too neat.
I raked my fingers through it again and now it looked messy.
Wonderful.
I sighed dramatically
