Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“This is so cool, but…I still don’t understand what’s going on. Are we going to go skiing? I don’t have any of my stuff.”
“Nope.”
Removing my phone from my jacket pocket, I tap it open. Hold it out as we step to the base of the gondola where a woman in a red snowsuit zaps the QR code.
She glances down at her handheld machine. “Two of you for seven o’clock?”
“Yup.”
“Step this way please.”
The gondola comes to a slow crawl, just slow enough for us to safely step inside, the door sliding closed behind us.
We sit just as it zooms to life and whisks us up the mountain.
“Roman, what is this?” Lilly looks around, marveling. “This is so amazing! I’ve never been on one of these before.”
She’s like a child on Christmas morning, and all I can think is I did that—I put that smile on her face.
It’s intoxicating, this feeling, making her happy.
The city below comes into view the higher we climb, its streetlights twinkling, cars getting smaller and smaller and smaller.
“Wow,” she says breathily. “Roman, I love this.”
There is a restaurant at the top—it used to be a bar and grill, but it’s been renovated into a chic steak and seafood date night destination. “The most romantic restaurant in the Midwest” according to the local newspaper. I trolled their social media for an entire day, watching video after video of the remodel online before choosing this as our first date.
Lilly is in awe.
The gondola comes to a gentle stop; when we step off, we’re greeted by a winter wonderland of trees covered in Christmas lights and snow, a picturesque scene straight from a movie screen.
We both inhale an excited breath.
I take her hand, leading her in.
It’s just crowded enough to give off good energy, and the table we’re given overlooks the hill and beyond.
“This is so romantic,” Lilly squeals. “I’m dying right now.” She removes her phone to take a picture, flash going off when she pans toward the dining area. “These pictures don’t do the view justice.”
They never do.
Lilly fiddles around some more, as giddy as a little kid. Eventually she puts the phone down, quits taking pictures, and realizes I’m staring at her.
“Why are you being so quiet?”
Because I want to shit my pants.
“Because I’m too nervous to talk.” I laugh anxiously, the small box in my jacket pocket burning a hole through the material. It doesn’t have an engagement ring or anything, but it’s the first gift I’ve given a woman, and it’s so cheesy I’m not sure how she’ll react to it.
I clumsily remove the box and set it on the tabletop after yanking it out of my pocket, grateful the server has come and gone with our drink order.
The last thing I need is an audience.
Lilly’s keen brown eyes flit to the cheerful red wrapping paper then up at my face; she doesn’t ask what’s in the box or who it’s for.
I slide it across the table ever so awkwardly. “This is for you.”
She bites down on her lower lip, excited. Gingerly plucks it off the table, pulling the ribbon that was painstakingly tied.
This tie around my neck feels like it’s choking me, anticipation hammering away the only nerves I have left, palms sweaty.
I run them over the leg of my jeans as Lilly unwraps the present.
“I didn’t get you anything.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to. Don’t get your hopes up—it’s not that exciting.” I downplay it, a defense against rejection.
Watch as she carefully removes the square box top. Takes the object inside and lifts it by the silky ribbon so it dangles above the table between us.
“Our first Christmas?” she reads, glancing up. “Aww, this is so sweet, Roman. Thank you.”
“I’m, uh—giving it to you for a reason.”
She tilts her head to the side, waiting for further explanation.
“Obviously it would be to commemorate our first Christmas since that’s coming up, but also I wanted…” I take a sip of water, needing to wet my suddenly dry throat. “I wanted to ask you…” Shit. It sounds like I’m trying to push out a proposal of marriage to her when what I really want to say is, “Will you be my girlfriend? I know this is our first date, but we’ve already done a few things out of order, and I already know I have feelings for you.”
This is not at all the speech I prepared yesterday, rehearsing it in my bathroom mirror at least a dozen times.
“I know you weren’t originally interested in dating due to your guy detox and you haven’t been single long, but sometimes…” I clear my throat. “When you know, you know.” At least, that’s what my grandmother always used to tell me. Trust your gut; it never steers you wrong.
“You’re right,” she says at last, setting the ornament down on the linen tablecloth. “I wasn’t interested in dating when I broke up with you know who, but that’s because I thought all guys were going to treat me the way he and the guys before him treated me. Why? Because I always date the same kind of person. Not on purpose, but because that’s who I’m surrounded by.” She takes a piece of bread from the basket the server just brought over, cutting herself a small pat of butter to spread on it. “I see now how wrong I was.”