28 | SILVER SHARPIE

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TWENTY-EIGHT

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TWENTY-EIGHT

silver sharpie

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     THE WATERFRONT WAS as breathtaking as it had always been. From the large windows the view of the sunlight dancing on the sea's deep blue was hard to miss. The evening's canvas was boldly painted with vivid hues of orange, violet and pink that melted into one another, dripping down the sky.

     However, even more breathtaking, was the vision of the boy across from me.

     Isaiah sported a fresh haircut, a clean jawline and those diamond studs that never failed to make me forget my name.

     He wasn't looking at me, instead at the menu, a crease forming between his eyebrows. It was a telltale sign that he was concentrating, his hazel eyes scanning the list of food.

     My mouth watered, and not just because a sharply dressed waiter was passing by with a platter of seafood.

     It was kind of funny--I knew Isaiah ordered the same exact thing every time we came here. He was pretending to scrutinize each and every item on the menu, but I knew better. I knew his attention was on the menu because it gave him something to focus on that wasn't me.

     But the difference between now and all our visits to the Waterfront was the lack of our usual four other people.

     Today was just the two of us—the kind of gathering that most would call a date. Well, it was a date, but I had yet to speak it out loud because the thought scared the living daylights out of me.

     Isaiah himself didn't scare me. I prided myself on the fact that not much could rattle me.

     I'd been on dates before, albeit most of them technically fake. The person sitting across from me was usually my pseudo-boyfriend, Keegan.

     We went on frequent "dates" because the art of keeping up appearances required things like that. I'd spend most of my time on my phone and masking my disgust by pouring wine down my throat. As long as I was tipsy, I didn't feel the urge to bolt from the table.

     What frightened me was that this time, it was real.

     Isaiah, clad in a gray button down with one button left undone and a golden cross hanging from his neck, was real. The designer watch that screamed 'I have money' was real, and the connection that ignited fire between us was real.

     He looked up.

     Damn, he caught me staring.

    My cheeks threatened to heat up, but I didn't let it show. I was wearing a red dress that could set the whole town on fire, and that wasn't at all embarrassing.

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