Knitted Hearts - Amber Kelly Page 0,23

the closet door. I purchased it a couple of months ago and haven’t worn it yet. If I pair it with the dress, I can wear my suede pumps and dress it up.

I grab both options in cover-up and footwear and lay them out on my bed. I’ll just see how Foster is dressed when he picks me up and decide which direction to go.

Then, I jump in the shower and shampoo my hair. It’s gotten so long. I usually wear it just past my shoulders, but I let it grow this summer for a change, and it’s hanging down my back now.

I pull it out with a dryer and round brush, so it lies in soft waves. I apply a little more makeup than I usually wear and spritz a dab of perfume on my wrists and behind my ears.

I slide into the dress and stand in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.

I haven’t felt this good or this comfortable in my skin in a long time.

It’s funny how a pretty dress and swipe of lipstick can make you feel like an entirely new woman.

I’m putting the back on my pearl earring when the buzzer rings. I look at the clock on the nightstand, and it’s seven thirty on the dot.

He’s prompt.

I run to the stairs, and I stop at the top and force myself to walk slowly to the door. I don’t want to seem too anxious.

When I open the door, he is standing there in a pair of dark jeans that fit him oh-so well and a dark gray dress shirt. His dirty-blond hair is a tad damp, like he rushed here straight from the shower. He smells like woodsy aftershave, and his blue eyes are twinkling as he looks me over from top to toe.

“That’s a great dress,” he says as his eyes come back to mine.

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” he asks.

“I have a jacket. I was just waiting for you before I put it on. Come in, and I’ll grab it and my heels and purse. Then, I’ll be ready to go.”

He comes in and shuts the door behind him as I climb the steps that lead to my living room area.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” I tell him before slipping into my bedroom to slide into the pumps and grab the fur blazer and my purse.

I take one last look in the mirror and a deep breath. Then, I join him.

I lock up, and he helps me with my blazer. Then, he offers me his elbow as we round the building onto Main Street. Instead of leading me to his truck, he guides me up the sidewalk.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“I made us a reservation at Bella Ciao. I hope you like pasta.”

Bella Ciao is the new Italian restaurant that opened downtown last summer. Elle and I have been dying to try it but haven’t made it there yet.

“I love it,” I tell him.

The evening is slightly chilly with a light breeze, but Foster’s significant frame blocks me from most of it. The lampposts that dot Main Street begin coming on one by one, as if guiding us down the lane. A few people are meandering on the sidewalks. Most of the shop owners are closing up for the night and heading home. A couple of kids are giggling as they chase a big brown dog around the square.

“Has downtown always been this amazing?” he asks as we stroll past the window displays.

“It has. I love it.”

“I’m starting to see the beauty of it more and more myself,” he admits.

We make our way to the corner of Main and Liberty, serenaded by the chirp of the snowy tree crickets.

Belle Ciao is a quaint stone-faced building with large, dark mahogany double doors. The sound of romantic instrumental music greets us as we walk into the stunning lobby. The aroma of sweet tomato sauce and garlic wafts through the air, and my mouth starts to water as Foster approaches the hostess station.

“This place is nice. It’s the first time I’ve been in here,” I tell him as the hostess leads us to a candlelit table tucked into a private corner.

“Me too. I’ve wanted to try it, but they aren’t doing takeout yet,” he says as he pulls a chair out for me.

I know what he means without him having to explain further. No one wants to eat in a restaurant alone, and no