Back home, you eyed your wardrobe, mulling over the night ahead. Your finest dress—the one you usually reserved for special occasions.
Tonight felt like a special occasion.
You slipped into the dress - it clung to you in all the right places, accentuating your curves. You twirled once, watching the satin move against your skin.
You dialed Emmanuel, heart racing, but as your phone lit up—you saw it.
One missed call.
**Marcus.**
The name glowed on your screen like a ghost from the past.
You stared at it—just for a second—then swiped it away without listening to any voicemail.
No games. No looking back.
"Hey," you said when Emmanuel answered, voice softer than intended. "I'm ready."
The sharp, playful honk echoed through your window—right after you hung up.
You froze.
Emmanuel was already outside. Leaning on his car, arms crossed, that cocky grin on his face like he'd known all along you'd say yes.
No grand entrance. No waiting.
Just *him*—patient, present… and unmistakably yours tonight.
You slid into the passenger seat like you'd done it a thousand times, slipping into Emmanuel's orbit effortlessly. The car felt comfortable, familiar—his smell, the soft sound of his breath. It grounded you.
Emmanuel glanced over, smirked at the sight of you. "Looking good, doc."
He let the compliment hang in the air—not just a casual remark, this felt like more. It held weight, meaning.
"I mean it," he continued softly, eyes on the road but somehow still pinning you to your seat. "You look...stunning."
You swallowed, feeling his gaze.
"Thanks," you muttered, trying to keep the warmth from your face.
But Emmanuel saw it—he always did. "You're blushing," he teased lightly, like the cat who got the cream.
You rolled your eyes, but your grin betrayed you. "Shut up," you said. "Drive."