Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Thirty-Three

By the time we reach Enrique's house, my feet ache from walking. And it's not just my feet. My legs and back and shoulders are also not fans of the sudden desire to hike.

The sunset is slowly disappearing into a dark, star-laden sky as I shower and get myself ready to go out for supper. The warm water of the shower relaxes me just enough to feel like walking any more might be a good idea.

And then, I realize I have to pick something to wear. What on earth do I own that is both comfortable and fancy enough for this? Probably a fair few dresses I left at home and not a whole lot else.

"Enrique?" I call down the hallway, still wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Silly of me to think he wouldn't be there to see me, really. Should have seen it coming, but nope. Until he pops his head around the doorway to his own room, it barely occurs to me that he could possibly see me like this, hair falling in clumpy curls down the side of my face.

"Yes?" he asks, not pretending to avoid eye contact, but also not staring so long as to make me uncomfortable. "You need some help?"

Instinctively, I grip the towel at the front, making sure it doesn't fall down. We don't need that right now. "I was just wondering where we're going. I'm trying to find some appropriate clothes that don't hurt any of my new injuries."

I have no idea why we're both still standing in the middle of the hallway staring at each other. I also have no idea what he says in response, because I'm thinking too hard about what he must be thinking.

He visibly swallows, running his hand through his hair.

"Could you say that again?" I ask, the heat climbing into my face now. "I didn't catch it."

"I said you could wear what you like. The place doesn't have a dress code besides the fact that you must be, umm, wearing clothes."

"Well, obviously I'm going to wear clothes."

"So just wear what you're comfortable in, then. Go somewhere in the middle?"

What on earth does somewhere in the middle mean? And why does this feel like our first real date?

His advice isn't helpful at all, so I just stare at my dresses, feeling like that is most appropriate for a date night. But not knowing which one to go for.

I can actually hear Carla in my head telling me to go for the one with the plunging neckline. And Lorena suggests the one that shows off my hips. Divya would agree with me on wearing something that was comfortable. But she just does that because she thinks everyone should get to wear what they're comfortable in.

None of my friends' opinions are helpful, so I close my eyes and reach into the closet, pulling out a dress that feels silky against my fingers.

When I open my eyes, it's actually a good choice. Deep green with gold accents. Tight enough to show something off but loose enough to eat a whole meal in. It's actually perfect. And if I can find the only pair of flats I own that won't rub my newly acquired blisters, I'll be ready to go.

Zipping myself into my dress isn't too hard, though it does require a neat trick with a ribbon. And sooner than the song I'm listening to is over, I manage to fix my hair, throw on some light makeup, and adorn my wrist with a nice bracelet. I still don't have my engagement ring back, which I was expecting to have by now. But it feels weird to wear nothing on my left hand when I'm married, so I rifle through my box until I find a small diamond band my grandma left me when she died.

Slipping it on my finger feels like it always belonged there. Like she knew I'd need it.

Tears sting my eyes, but I push them down, racing out of my room and down the stairs, sliding my earrings into my ears while searching the front entrance for my comfortable shoes.