Page 123 of Finding Him
I cross my arms over my chest, relenting. Iwasbeing a little bit ridiculous.
Okay, a lot ridiculous.
Niallknowsme. Of course he likes me. I’m freaking out and overthinking over nothing.
“Fine. Come on. I still need help picking an outfit.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past hour?” Chloe laughs, grabbing my hands and pulling me up off the bed with a surprising amount of strength for someone so slender. “Now, let’s find you something to go with those jeans.”
Eventually, after trying on what feels like every sweater in her closet, we settle on a blue pullover, from some french designer Chloe says is très chic. It’s a soft, cozy cashmere in ashade that matches Niall’s dark eyes, a fact that Chloe points out with a wink.
It’s simple yet elegant, and feels incredibly soft against my skin. Not that I think Niall will notice the fine detailing of my French Made Sweater, but it makes me feel a bit more confident. Like a suit of armour made of stupidly expensive wool.
“Do you want me to do your hair?” Chloe asks me, after we decide that this is the one.
“Would you?” I ask. My own hair styling abilities are limited to a ponytail or a messy bun, neither of which seem remotely appropriate for a first date. I could possibly give myself lopsided braids, but that doesn’t sound very appealing either.
“Of course.” she grins, pushing me down onto the vanity stool in front of her massive light-up mirror. Chloe’s house is fairly average sized, just for her and her dad, but her bedroom feels like it belongs in a mansion. “Now stop fidgeting.”
I sigh, letting Chloe work her magic with my hair. She pulls half of it up into a loose bun, letting the rest fall in soft waves down my back. She sprays it with something that smells like flowers and sunshine, and when she’s done I barely recognize myself.
I look... older. Prettier. Like a girl who goes on dates and doesn’t have a panic attack beforehand.
“There,” she says when she’s done, stepping back to admire her handiwork with a critical eye. “Perfect. He won’t know what hit him”
“Thanks, Chlo.”
She smiles, squeezing my shoulders. “Any time, Mol. Now let's go get your man.”
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SIX O'CLOCK, NIALLhad promised. I figured the time being set so precisely would give me enough time to freak out during theminutes that come after six o’clock while it naturally takes him a little bit longer than that.
It’s the Irish way, after all, a little bit of fashionably late is practically a national tradition.
However, at exactly six o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rings, cutting through the quiet of the house and making me jump out of my skin.
I’m alone at home—Chloe’s dad dropped me off like twenty minutes ago. Mom and Jamie are up in Dublin tonight, for another one of Jamie’s therapy sessions, and Lorraine is staying at a friend’s house for a sleepover.
The already huge house feels too big, way too quiet, the ticking of the clock in the hallway echoing like a drumbeat counting down to my doom.
Him arriving on time is somehow more nerve wracking than it would have been if he had been late.
It takes me a few seconds, a few deep, calming breaths that do nothing to calm me at all, but I finally make my way to the door and open it. I’m a bit surprised to see that he’salsowearing a blue shirt, since we didn’t text each other anything about what we’d be wearing.
It’s a simple, dark blue button-down in almost the same shade as mine, and it makes his eyes look even bluer—if that were to be possible.
“Hey,” he says, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans, a shy and almost nervous smile on his face.
His shirt is rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms, and I swear I see goosebumps rise on his skin when he looks at me. It’s a tiny detail that makes my own skin tingle in response.
“Hi,” I say back, my voice a little breathless.
I’m suddenly hyperaware of every single thing I’m doing with my body; how my hands are clasped in front of me, how I’mleaning slightly on one foot, how I’m probably staring at him like a complete idiot. “You’re on time.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, glancing at his watchless wrist. He quickly corrects himself, looking at the wrist that actually does have a watch. It’s an old, worn-looking thing I’ve never seen him wear before. “Didn’t wanna be late.”
I nod, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind me. “Where are we going?”
