The closer it got to 7:00, the more anxious I got. I was buzzing around my house like a fly as I tried to get everything in order. I knew Dylan wouldn't actually be coming inside for the two bedroom, two bath tour of high class luxury, but still everything needed to be in place. It was 6:55 by the time I looked at the clock.
I made an anxious noise as I ran to the mirror in my room. I fixed my hair for the tenth time that night, the curls now loose and dangling down my back attractively. My dress was a navy blue, ending about mid-thigh. It had long sheer sleeves, and it was the nicest thing I owned. I wore a pair of sensible black heels, and I carried a small purse. I didn't even really recognize myself. The girl in the mirror was far fancier than I, and I was beginning to feel out of place before I even left the house.
Dylan had asked for fancy, so I gave him fancy. But it wasn't me.
I thought Dylan would call me when he was outside, but the knocking on the door told me differently. He tapped out a tune that made me smile on the way to the door, despite my nerves.
I opened the door with a smile that I hoped would convince him of my confidence. It dropped when I saw him. He was wearing a silky blue suit buttoned over a pristine white shirt and a simple black tie. His shoes were black and bright as if they had just been shined, and his hair was gelled into a soft-looking quiff.
When I stopped gawking to look at his eyes, he was giving me the same once over I'd given him.
"Wow, you look..." He trailed off, shaking his head like he didn't know what to say.
"I didn't know what to wear... It's not too much, is it?" The first of my nerves showed themselves to him, and he flashed me a wide smile.
"No, you look great. It's perfect. Are you ready? The reservation is for 8:00."
"Yeah, I'm ready." I grabbed my small purse and closed the door behind me, locking it before following Dylan to his car. He was driving a small grey Maserati with tan leather interiors. He opened the door for me to get in. It was pretty low to the ground, so I'm sure I wasn't nearly as graceful getting in as he would be. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind because he chuckled lightly.
As he crossed the car, I leaned over to push open his door. He thanked me as he slid in, and we smiled at each other. This was beginning to look more and more like a date even though we both knew this was strictly two friends going out to eat to get to know each other better.
To ease the tension as we drove, I said, "So, where are we going?"
"It's a surprise," he replied, shooting me a wink. I smiled at his answer.
I hummed along to the song playing on the radio, which was Perfect by Ed Sheeran. He was one of my favorite artists, so I knew nearly every song of his by heart. The next song that came on was Slow Hands, and I sang out loud to that one. It was fine because Dylan sang it with me. It was just like the first night we met, loud tunes coming out of our mouths in unison as we sang. Dylan even went so far as to act it out, making me throw my head back and laugh in a way that I haven't in a while.
When the song ended, our laughter trailed off, and Dylan said, "You're pretty good."
"At what? Singing?" He nodded at me with a smile. I chuckled, slightly embarrassed, a blush rising to my cheeks. "Thanks."
"Do you sing?"
"I used to," I shrugged, hoping he would drop the conversation. It was something that me and my dad did. He played the piano, so music was always our thing. Since he died, I could never find the confidence to sing in front of an audience again.
