LEXI

I’m standing outside our apartment complex trying not to sweat through my new dress. I don’t know why Brad couldn’t have just walked across the hallway and picked me up at the door. Waiting outside like this brings on a whole new level of nerves—so formal, so contrived.

Nothing like the way we used to run in and out of each other’s houses without warning. More mornings than not, I’d find Brad eating breakfast with Lucas, the pair slurping their cereal before my mom shoved them both into the car and hauled us all to school.

In the summers, our doors had hung wide open. We knew where the spare keys were to each house, and a locked door had never kept us out. I’d once gone into Brad’s bedroom when his family wasn’t home to grab a spare sweatshirt when all of mine were dirty.

Hence the reason this waiting outside is so unsettling. We’ve never had any sort of formality in our lives before, not where Brad and I are concerned, and it doesn’t feel natural.

A limo pulls up, and I look past it. Bradley’s car is still parked in the lot, so I’m half wondering if he’s still inside his apartment getting ready. Maybe he forgot about tonight. Maybe he’s so wrapped up in Halo with my brother that he lost interest in the romantic part of the evening.

Maybe—

“Brad?” I look down through the window of the limousine. “What are you doing in there?”

He opens the door to the limo, dressed head to toe in a suit that makes him look like a movie star. I could check him out all day, and it would still never be enough.

“You look beautiful,” Brad says, his voice hoarse as he reaches for my hand, then spins me in a circle. “Which is why I’m afraid to ask you to change.”

“Change?” My heart leaps into my throat as I consider the possibilities of where I’d gone wrong. A hole in my dress. Toilet paper stuck to my foot. Too sexy of an outfit for where we’re going. Not sexy enough.

Before I reach a conclusion, he adds an explanation. “I brought you something.”

I glance down at my new dress, dismayed it’s not doing the trick. I’d come this close to not cutting the tags off, but at the last second, I’d snipped them away. Now, I’m stuck with the dress and the eighty-dollar price tag.

My complaint dies on my lips when Brad pulls out a dress covered by a plastic bag. I recognize the bag. I recognize the bottom edges of the dress peeking out. I recognize everything because it’s the very dress I wore to prom.

“Where did you find that?” I gape, letting the silky silver material run over my fingers. “I haven’t seen this in a decade.”

“Neither have I,” he says. “Though I’ve daydreamed about it some.”

“What?”

“On the roof, the night of our first kiss...”

I’m so struck by the words ‘our first kiss’ that I lose whatever he says next. Our first kiss. It feels so romantic and big and fantastic.

“...when we were talking about high school, and all the years we spent dancing around our feelings for one another,” he continues, waiting until I raise my gaze to his eyes. “So with a little help from your friends, I think I re-created the evening.”

“What evening?”

“Prom!”

“I don’t understand.”

“There are so many things I’d change about that night. And the nights following it, and the nights before it.”

“Like what?”

“I would pull you into my arms, hold you all night long. I would savor the slow dances and feed you chocolate covered strawberries. Then, at the end of the night, I would kiss you.”

“And?”

“And whatever else you let me get away with,” he says on a grin. “Look, it’s nothing fancy. Lucas asked your mom for the dress, and Sasha and Kitty helped me with the details.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Some things have to be a surprise. Why don’t you find out?”

That’s how I ended up in a limo with Bradley Hamilton headed to a second chance prom on our very first date.

“This version of prom is way better,” I tell him, holding up the bottle of champagne chilling in the backseat. “We’re legal now.”

“You say that as if it changes things.”

“It does! I didn’t drink in high school.”

Brad tips his head to the side, studies me. “That’s right. I forgot—you were a good girl.”

“Was I?” I slide closer to him on the seat and loop my foot over his. “Or is that just what I let you think?”

His breath hisses as he rests a hand on my exposed thigh. My red dress slides up as I scoot over on the seat, and his hand inches up, a little too high, until I cross my legs and his fingers slide away.

“You're going to make this night difficult, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “I had everything planned—the chocolate fountain, the dances, the drinks...and all I want to do is turn this car around and take you home.”

“Good thing we’re finally going on this damn date. Maybe we’re both sick of waiting by now, ever think of that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I wink. “I’ll let you figure it out.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe I just let you think I was a good girl.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t let me have you in high school.”

“Why’s that?”

Bradley pauses, pulls the bottle of champagne from my hands, and smoothly pops the cork. He pours two glasses, hands me one, and we clink. He gives me a downright dirty smile as he leans in, smelling of fresh aftershave and bubbly. Tingles race across my spine as he murmurs into my ear.

“I wanted you in high school, so badly,” he says. “But I couldn’t have done justice to the way I feel about you.”

“And now?”

His hand reaches to cup my face and drag it toward him. He captures my mouth in a kiss, and my heart with a touch. A caress down my arm, a nip of my lip. The things he’s doing have me ready to call this date complete and head home.

When he pulls back, he’s watching me. My breathing is ragged and my eyes are probably all glazed over.

“There’s your answer,” he says. “Come on, we’re here.”

He thanks the limo driver, then helps me out of the car. We’re both still clutching our champagne glasses, but he’s also got the bottle and the dress in his hands, while I tuck my clutch under my arm.

It takes me a second to get my bearings and, when I look up, I almost choke on my own saliva. “What is this?”

“I killed myself for weeks, months trying to find some place to take you that has the best food in the city. Or the most stunning views. Or the most elegant decor. I struck out on everything.”

“Brad, I’m simple. I told you not to sweat—”

“Then, I came here and had your waffles. It hit me that no restaurant would ever impress you. Because your food is the best.”

“I’m no chef, Brad, you don’t have to say that. I run a diner.”

“And it’s the best food I’ve ever eaten,” he says again. “I have eaten everything on your menu—”

“—except the oatmeal.”

“I’m getting to it,” he says with a grin. “So, consider me an expert.”

“But it’s dark, and... closed?”

“I took care of your employees and paid them to take the night off,” Brad says. “Money’s not the issue. I’ll fund whatever revenue you would’ve missed.”

“That’s not important! It’s just—”

“Before you say anything more, come and look.”

Bradley takes my hand and pulls me up the familiar steps. However, when we move through the front door, nothing about Minnie’s is familiar. The tables have all been pushed to the sides and decorated with bouquets of fresh flowers.

Lights dangle from the ceiling, little bulbs of fallen stars that give the room a fuzzy glow. The diner counter has been made into a buffet style platform that includes bits of fancy finger foods, a chocolate fountain, and a petite ice cream bar for dessert.

There’s a computer and pseudo DJ station set up on one abandoned table, and a sparkling disco ball behind it. Streamers hang around a makeshift dance floor in the center of it all.

“You did this for me?” I look around the room. “All of this for one date?”

“I had help. Your brother, Kitty and Sasha—”

“It’s perfect.” I turn to face him. “I love it. This is so much better than a fancy restaurant.”

“Are you sure?” His face crumples some in uncertainty. “Because you deserve the best, and I wanted to make you happy. But this just seemed...personal.”

“It is so personal.” I take a few steps across the room, raise my hands to his face, and press a kiss to his cheeks. “We’ve never been hoity toity before, and I don’t think we should start now. This is us.”

“Then, may I have a dance?”

“First things first,” I say, swigging the last of my champagne before setting down my clutch and dragging the dress out of his arms. “Let me get changed.”