The Dinner

I glance at the clock, hating the second hand as it keeps ticking, dragging me closer to six-thirty. I sniffle, rest my head on my fist, and turn the page of a book I'm not paying attention to. Since I got home, I've sat here, in my pastel pink pajamas, my stomach tied in knots at the thought of him showing up to take me to dinner. I lick my parched lips and shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the small words neatly printed onto the cream paper of the book I hold in my hands. I've read Outlander a million times, but this is the first time I find myself not being engrossed by the story.

All I can think about is the fact that any second now, Seth's going to bang on my door and-knock knock. I startle, straightening my spine as my heart plummets deep into my abdomen.

He's here.

Another rap of firm knuckles against the door pulls me off my couch. I toss my book against the cushion, tuck my long brunette hair behind my ears, and stride toward the front door. I've already imagined how