Only One Chance (Only One 2)

She laughs. “It’s cute that you are still scared of your parents.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not scared of my parents. I just don’t want to let them down.” I watch her when I say the next sentence. “It’s why I will only get married once. When I say the vows, it’s going to be forever, and it’s going to be to someone who is as head over heels for me as I am for her.” She swallows and avoids making eye contact with me.

“Things change,” she says, looking at me. “People can change over time. Sometimes divorce is better than staying in a marriage that is empty.” She shrugs and smiles. “I’m going to start cleaning up,” she says, pushing away from the table.

“But we still have more questions,” I say. I’m tempted to ask her about her last relationship, but something tells me it’s not what she wants to discuss. I lean in now and take the top paper. “What is the most romantic thing that someone has done for you?”

As I watch her, I wonder if she’ll sit down and answer or just ignore it. I’m holding my breath, hoping she just goes with it. “I don’t want to answer that,” she says, sitting down and pouring herself another glass of wine. I can see that she’s nervous.

“Why not?” I ask, tapping the paper on the table. “Okay, fine, I’ll ask you another question.”

I put the paper down and take out another question. “A movie you can watch over and over again.”

“Notting Hill.” She answers this one without thinking twice. “I’m just a girl in front of a boy asking him to love her.” Her eyes shine. “What about you?”

“Mighty Ducks. The Flying V gets me every time,” I say, and she just throws her head back and laughs. I can watch her every night, I think to myself. I can sit down with her every night and ask her questions. The feeling scares me just a bit, and I grab my water just to keep my hands busy.

She finally stops laughing and looks at me. “Ask me the question again,” she says, her voice going low. I don’t move. I just look at her. “The last one.”

I sit up again and grab the paper, opening it. “What is the most romantic thing that someone has done for you?”

She looks up at me and then looks down at her hands. Her hair falls in front of her face, and she tucks in a piece behind her ear. Her eyes are so light as a shy smile curls her lips. “I don’t want you to make too much of this,” she says and finishes her wine for the liquid courage. “This,” she says softly. “This, right here, is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for me.”Chapter 15LaylaMy heart hammers in my chest almost as if it’s trying to get out, and my mouth is as dry as the desert. “This, right here, is the most romantic thing someone has ever done for me,” I admit, and just from his smile, I know it was the right thing to say. This whole dinner has knocked me on my ass.

“Is it really?” he asks. His brown eyes turn a soft amber color, and I wonder if his cheeks hurt from smiling.

“It really is,” I admit. “It’s also the most thoughtful.”

“Does this mean you might say yes to a second date?” He winks, and I throw my head back and laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much on a date before. It’s so carefree.

“Relax there, Romeo,” I say and finally get up and start clearing the plates. “Why don’t we see how the rest of the date goes first?” Standing, he places his hands on mine to take the plates from my hands and puts them back on the table.

“You are not cleaning the table,” he says. “I’ll clean it up later.”

“I think there is a universal rule that the cook doesn’t clean.”

“There is also a universal rule that says when a gorgeous woman agrees to have dinner with you, you don’t make her waste her time cleaning up.” He smirks, and I roll my eyes.

I shake my head. “Okay, fine.” I sit down. “Let’s finish these questions.”

He slaps his hands together. “Please pick the what color is your panties one.”

I slap the table, laughing. “White,” I tell him, and he laughs. For the rest of the night, we go through the questions, and none of them are about my panties. They are actually all thoughtful, and we get to know each other better.

“I have to get going,” I say, getting up. “I have a show to prepare for.”

“I’ll go and get my keys,” he says and walks into the house.

“I can take an Uber,” I tell him.