You guys, wow! I can not believe how much love this story got in the DaddyWard contest! (Second pick GIMME MORE award, Call Me Daddy Award, 3rd place public vote, and 2nd place judges vote) Thank you so so so much!

I am a little late posting it on my profile because I was out of town last week and have worked everyday since I got back. Better late than never ;)

Of course, a huge thank you goes out to my wonderful Beta Fran and Pre-reader Mary. You guys are taking my work to a new level!

This is a oneshot that will not be expanded. So enjoy it for what it is :)


Out of the loop.

That's what Alice said.

"You're too old to remember how this works, Edward."

Despite not being visible over the phone, my sister's drastic eyeroll was implied.

The pad of my thumb taps on my steering wheel. I'm attempting to play off the nervous tick like I'm following along to the beat of the late nineties rock song playing over Bluetooth.

The narrowed jade-green eyes of my son meet me from the passenger's seat. I know that look. His eyes are identical to mine, the only thing I think he inherited from me, and this is an expression I've sent his way numerous times.

"Why are you nervous?" Seth's perceptive.

I scoff, vision back on the road. "I'm not."

"You're a bad liar."

I want to throw the judgment back at him. I notice he's picking at the plastic corsage case resting on his lap. It's winter formal tonight, and it would be way cooler to be driven by anyone other than his dad, but he doesn't turn sixteen and get his license until May. For now, he's stuck with me as his chauffeur.

"Rachel's mom will probably want some pictures when you pick her up," I remind him, remembering the first dance I took his mother to when we were a little older than him. I was sure we would miss half the fun as our mothers spent an eternity with their cameras.

I didn't understand then how grateful I would be for those pictures now.

"That probably won't take long, right?" He asks, shifting in his seat and lifting a hand to run through his dark hair before remembering the work he put into getting it just right and dropping his arm to his side.

Smirking, I set my blinker to make a left. We turn on Rachel's street—just a few blocks to go.

"So," I start before clearing my throat. "We should probably discuss a couple of things."

Seth's head snaps toward me as his brows rise in panic. "Oh, no. Dad, please don't."

"You're getting older now. Dating is a big deal at your age."

"Please, shoot me," he whines and sinks into his seat. His cheeks pinken and I almost feel bad for putting him through another lecture. Almost.

"Look, just be smart, okay? I'm not ready to be a grand-dad, and you don't want to be walking around with an infection you have to explain to your future wife."

"Jesus, Dad! I'm just taking this girl to a dance!" I'm tempted to take the corsage container away from him because, with how he's squeezing it, the flower inside will end up crushed.

It's my turn to side-eye him. "But you like her."

He's silent. I understand. Once upon a time, I was a teenage boy with a crush. Talking about those feelings isn't high on their list, especially with their fathers.

"Be a gentleman. Open doors for her. Tell her she looks beautiful."

You're too old to remember how this works.

Alice's words return to me, and my thumb starts up its pattern on the wheel again.

"Dad, come on. I know what I'm doing. Besides, when was the last time you took a girl out? Mom, like forever ago?"

I gulp back my response. Sure, my last first date was over twenty years ago. Sure, I married my high school sweetheart. Sure, I've been alone since we lost her when Seth was nine.

"I don't think girls have changed that much," I mutter.

I hope they haven't.

"Uncle Emmett gave me some advice," Seth reassures me. Advice from Emmett is the opposite of reassuring.

"Oh, God."

"He knows more than you." Scratching at the back of his neck, Seth glances out the window, discreetly checking his hair in the side mirror. "Uncle Emmett just got married, and Aunt Rose is seriously hot."

"She's your aunt, Seth."

"Whatever. It's not like we're really related. Uncle Emmett said to play it cool. That girls don't like it when you make it obvious you're into them."

Stopping at an intersection, I stare blankly at my son. Playing it cool? Emmett followed Rose around like a dog, begging her to give him a chance. It took six months of his relentlessness for her to agree to a lunch date.

"Rachel's house is right there." Seth points through the dash.

I pull next to the curb two doors down and cut the engine, tempted to give him a few last pieces of advice. My words die on my tongue when he jumps out of the car and slams the door.

For the next thirty minutes, I'm regaled to watching my son pose with an awkward arm around his date while Rebecca Black takes so many pictures I wonder how her iCloud storage isn't full. She promises to send them to me later tonight. I muster a half-hearted thanks.

Rachel blushes after she and Seth climb into the back seat of my Mercedes, and he tells her she "looks nice." She's obviously spent time on her hair and makeup, her emerald eyeshadow matching her dress— and Seth's tie. I now understand his insistence on having green. Although, I wish he hadn't waited until last night to tell me the color preference and beg for a ride to the mall.

They sit on opposite sides of the back seat, and I watch in the rearview mirror as they steal glances at one another. Rachel giggles when she catches him, and Seth dips his head, embarrassed to be caught.

Soon enough I pull into the parking lot of the school. They're going to Seth's friend's house after the dance. He reminds me to pick him up there. I remind him to keep his phone on so he can meet me outside when I text him at midnight. I warn him I'm not above knocking on Jared's front door to track him down.

I don't have time to wait and watch the teenage couple disappear into the decorated gymnasium. There's a line of parents in cars behind me, and I am expected downtown by a quarter after.

Blowing a long breath through my nose, I turn up the Foo Fighters song on the stereo. I usually use it to get pumped up for a workout, but tonight, I'm looking for a different type of motivation.

I have a date.

Alice was the one who talked me into getting on a dating app. "Not Tinder," she demanded. Something geared for the middle-aged crowd. Those of us hovering around forty.

I was reluctant to take her advice, but I gave in after a beer-fueled conversation with my brother about the joys of marriage. Being a widower is a lonely life.

When Kate died, I swore there would never be another woman for me. I told her so during those final weeks when she was so frail I thought I would break her with the slightest touch. She huffed a laugh and told me not to be ridiculous. She explained that I could love her and move on simultaneously. It took me years to understand what she meant.

I fidget with the buttons on the top of my crisp blue dress shirt, wondering if I should have worn a tie instead of going for the single button undone with a blazer look. Should I have worn a suit at all? I am meeting this woman, Isabella, in the bar of the St. Regis. I figured I could show off a little by taking her someplace nice. I don't know if people still wear suits outside of business.

Valet parking is my best option. The college kid who waits to take my keys awkwardly stands as I jog to my trunk and retrieve the bouquet I stashed there earlier.

I learned through our online chats that Isabella's favorite color is purple. Hopefully, the combination of lilacs and violet roses won't be considered over the top. I think women still like flowers.

The valet kid takes my keys with a "Have a good night, sir," and I follow the hotel's front steps into the extravagant lobby. Inside are sleek lines and modern furnishings, gray undertones with bronze accents. It's classy but not ostentatious. Perfect for a first date. At least, I hope so.

I'm fifteen minutes early, so I settle into an armchair with a clear view of the front door. Two men with their wives walk past toward the bar behind me. I'm relieved to see the couples in suits and cocktail dresses, but my fingers fly up to fiddle with my collar when I see that both men have on ties. Maybe I have an extra tie in my car? I mentally review the inventory of my trunk. While I sometimes leave a change of shirt back there, I have never thought to keep more.

My leg bounces, rustling the tissue paper of the bouquet as I run a hand over my chin. There's a small scab on my jaw from where I nicked myself shaving earlier. I hope it's not noticeable.

The lobby doors open as a gust of cool wind ushers in a family of four. A bellboy follows with two large suitcases. I chuckle at the child by his father's side, dragging superhero luggage behind him.

As the family turns toward check-in, I notice a figure sneak in behind them. A woman in black heels that make her appear much taller than her average height smooths her hair down, glancing at her reflection in a mirror by the elevators.

I swallow thickly, my palms sweating as my fingers curl around the flower stems at my side.

Isabella is beautiful. Stunning. The profile picture on the dating app is a poor excuse.

She reveals her slim body as she unties her long coat and slips the black wool from her shoulders. She told me she would wear a blue dress, but I never imagined the deep midnight color would so perfectly offset her alabaster skin and mahogany hair. Delicate collar bones rest above the scoop neck of her long-sleeved ensemble. From the front, it's conservative, but when she turns away to read a directory sign, the design makes me itch to hold my palm against the exposed skin at the small of her back.

Spinning toward the bar where we planned to meet, Isabella's gaze lands on me. I'm a statue, standing with flowers dangling at my side like a fool while I wait for her to form a first impression. I'm lucky. She doesn't run away screaming.

A wide smile stretches her cheeks and her heels click as she crosses the marble floor. "Are you Edward?" She asks, stopping far enough that it wouldn't be awkward if I were a random man.

"Isabella?" My voice almost cracks. My brother would laugh if he knew.

"Yes." Her honey-laced chocolate eyes crinkle at the side in amusement as she holds a hand out to shake mine. Is that how you greet an internet date? I assume she knows better than me, so I firmly grasp and smile back.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long." She shifts her jacket from one arm to another, the belt falling from a loop and dragging along the floor.

"Here, let me…" I reach to lift the coat from her hands before remembering the flowers I have in mine. "Oh, these are for you."

We exchange items and she lifts the bouquet, sniffing it gently. Up close, I notice a dusting of freckles across her nose, somewhat shielded by a light layer of makeup. I'm glad she's not one of those women who contour.

"These are gorgeous, thank you."

I want to tell her she's gorgeous. I stop myself in time.

"Shall we?" I offer my arm. She giggles but slips her hand in the crook of my elbow anyway. Was that too old-fashioned? I'm sure Seth would be rolling his eyes. "Would you like to grab a drink? Our reservation isn't for another thirty minutes?" I ask, leading her in the direction of the bar.

She nods, adjusting the bouquet in her free hand. "A glass of wine sounds great."

Isabella chooses a table against the wall, somewhat secluded, while I offer to grab a few glasses of cabernet. I fidget with a paper coaster while waiting for the bartender to pour, my nerves too strong to keep bottled up.

"Anniversary?"

My focus bounces from the beautiful brunette in the corner to the thirty-something blonde man behind the bar. "Huh?"

"Are you here for an anniversary with your wife?" He nods in Isabella's direction while my heart twists at the word "wife." The pain is subtle tonight but not entirely gone.

I take the glasses along with the square napkins underneath. "First date."

"No kidding?" The bartender shakes his head as he grabs an empty pint glass. "You two look like you've been together a while. Well, good luck."

Nodding, I tell him I'll be back to close out the tab and weave around a chair toward Isabella.

She accepts her wine with a smile and a thank you before taking a tentative sip. Her tongue pokes out to wipe away the drop left on her lips, and the hint of a sensation I haven't felt in far too long settles deep in my abdomen.

"So, uh, it's been a while since I've done this," I chuckle, rubbing my palm against my slacks. "Where do we start?"

Isabella laughs. It's sweet, good-humored, and the kind of laugh I could listen to forever. "I'm glad you're not some sort of Casanova taking women out all over town."

I nearly choke on my wine. "Far from it."

"Well, I think online we were talking about work. You said you have your own firm?" She leans in, her fingers resting on the stem of her wineglass.

Ah, yes. Work. My shoulders relax, and I sit up straighter, ready to impress her with my resume. "Yes. Cullen and Cullen. My brother and I have joint ownership of our law firm. We specialize in business law. It's not glamorous, but it's lucrative."

"It sounds better than my job," she laughs, then sips.

I find myself intrigued, wanting to know every detail about this woman. "You're in marketing, right?"

"Yep." She pops the P sound at the end of the word while her gaze follows a couple rising from the table two away. "My current accounts are all skin care products for teens. I feel like I'm reliving high school."

"What products? I've probably purchased some of them in the past few years."

Her eyebrow quirks and she scans my face as if I'm about to morph into a pimple-faced fourteen-year-old. "Fresh and Clear is the top seller, specifically their face wash and toner. Have you heard of them?"

I want to adjust my non-existent tie, so I have something to do with my hands because I'm about to drop some information that might end this date before we get to the dinner part. "Uh, yeah. My son uses that brand."

"You have a son?" She remains collected, which isn't what I was expecting. Optimism bubbles in my chest.

"Seth. He's fifteen."

"I like the name Seth." She grins and sips her wine while I scramble to compute her acceptance of the fact that not only do I have a kid I never mentioned, for fear of never making it to the meeting-up point, but the fact that I'm old enough to have a fifteen-year-old.

"What about you?" I hesitate, wondering if this is the best topic of conversation, but the need to know outweighs my concerns. "Any kids."

"Not yet." She glances down, fiddling with the paper napkin under her wine glass. "Only nieces and nephews."

Not yet.

Jesus. Does she want kids? Could I go through that stage all over again?

"You've got time." I wink, trying to diffuse the heaviness that lies in the air.

"Not much," She scoffs. "I'm, uh, thirty-five."

My brows raise. Whatever Isabella's doing to take care of herself, it's working. "I would have pegged you for being in your twenties."

"Am I too old for you?" She smirks.

"No!" I nearly choke on air. "God, not at all. I'm thirty-nine. I was actually worried you were too young for me."

She hums, and I reach for my wine, taking too large a sip. There's a lull in conversation that leaves me panicking for the next question. My mind goes blank. What do you ask a beautiful woman on a date? Damnit. I am out of practice.

To buy time, I check my watch. "Oh, wow. Our reservation is in five minutes." My tense shoulders release in the relief that our slightly awkward moment has passed. I tell Isabella I'll meet her by the entrance to the bar after I pay the tab.

I give the bartender a good tip when he mentions that the beautiful woman I'm with seems into me.

Keeping my restless hands out of my pockets and by my side is difficult. I'm trying to appear confident as I lead Isabella toward the elevator bank to ride to the top floor where Chicago's finest steakhouse resides. Stepping to the side, we make room for a group of men exiting when the doors open. The scrawniest of the bunch, a tall but average-looking guy, allows his eyes to travel over my date, his lips hitching in greeting when his vision settles on her heart-shaped face.

That's my cue.

My palm quickly rests against the alabaster skin exposed on Isabella's lower back.

"This steakhouse is known for their Filet Mignon." My lips rest inches from her ear as I mutter the words. Her cheeks flush, and her mouth parts. If I were keeping score, the move would have earned me points.

"That sounds wonderful." Cheeks tinted pink she moves forward into the elevator, waiting for me to select our floor.

We're alone in the enclosed space. The air settles thick and heavy around us, vibrating with a tension that thrills me. "You look stunning, by the way. I meant to tell you earlier."

"Thank you." Another blush.

Silence falls while we watch the floors tick by. The higher we climb, the stronger the urge to touch this beautiful creature builds. I haven't felt this way about a woman in years— this need, the excitement of new possibilities. I push away the thoughts of my late wife. It's okay to move on.

A bell chimes, and the doors open to reveal deep mahogany woods and brass fixtures. Dim lighting gives the entrance to the steakhouse a romantic vibe, which I hope will impress Isabella.

Her breathless "Oh, wow" makes me believe I've succeeded.

The host greets us and checks our reservation before leading us through the elegant dining room to a table pressed against a wall of windows. I help Isabella into her seat before I take my own and put in an order for a bottle of the cabernet we began drinking downstairs.

"Look at that view," Isabella breathes, gaze fixated on the glittering lights of the city skyline.

My mouth hitches at the side, happy she's impressed. "One of the best in the city."

"Have you been here many times?" She opens her menu but her focus remains on me, whisky eyes drinking me in.

I don't tell her about the graduation dinner spent here with Kate and our families and how that was my first taste of fine cuisine. Instead, I say, "A few business dinners. It's always been one of my favorite spots."

She hums, placing her menu down and lifting her napkin to put it in her lap. "You recommended Filet Mignon. Is that your go-to order?"

I chuckle, laying my napkin across my thighs. "Actually, I'm a porterhouse man myself. Although I have been known to mix things up with the filet now and then."

She laughs, a charming bell-sounding laugh that I could never tire of hearing. It becomes my goal to make her do it again.

"Your wine, sir," the sommelier arrives, pouring me a tasting amount and waiting until I approve. I hope I make a good show of checking the smooth tannins of the drink because I have no idea what I'm looking for. It's drinkable, and that's all that matters.

Our waiter, Michael, greets us before the sommelier finishes pouring Isabella's glass. He offers a list of specials and recommends the stuffed mushrooms as a first course. Isabella's eyes alight as he describes the cheese and spices the chef uses as a filling so I take a chance and put in an order.

"Thank you, those sound amazing." She smiles into her wine glass before taking a sip.

"Something told me you might be interested in them." I wink, opening my menu to peruse the entree sides. I decided it's a porterhouse kind of night for me.

"So, Edward. I want to know more about your son," she says, catching me off guard. "I remember being a teenager, and I can't say I was the easiest to deal with. How is it parenting a fifteen-year-old."

I lean into the back of my chair, searching for an answer. Terrifying, amazing, anxiety-inducing. But I land on "rewarding."

I earn another laugh. "That's not the answer I was expecting."

Nodding, I place my menu on the table, set on a twice-baked potato and seasonal vegetable. "Seth's a great kid. Don't get me wrong, he has his moments, but I can't imagine my life without him. When his mom died-" My words catch in my throat. I don't know if it's too early in whatever this is to bring up my dead wife.

"I'm so sorry." Isabella's brows dip as she straightens her fork. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"I don't want to send you running." I half-joke before taking another drink of wine, hoping my building nerves will diminish.

"No, it's fine. I think at this age, we all have a history. I just didn't know you lost someone. Were you two still together?"

"Yes. We were high school sweethearts, married for twelve years."

"You must have been devastated."

I sigh, my unfocused gaze set on the city below. "Yes, but at the same time, watching her suffer was in some ways worse than the grief of losing her."

"She was sick?" Isabella leans forward, catching my hand in hers on the tabletop.

"Cancer." I give a weak smile, the word loaded. Everyone understands the simple explanation.

"It's one of the hardest things, losing someone you love to such a horrible disease," she says, her thumb stroking my knuckles before she retrieves her hand to replace it on her lap. "I lost my father last year to lung cancer. It was a shock to all of us when he was diagnosed. Never smoked a day in his life."

"I'm so sorry." I offer, wishing her hand was still in reach. Somehow, the connection through her touch lessened the ach in my heart.

She blows a long breath through pursed lips before smiling and lifting her glass. "Guess this isn't the best first date topic."

I shrug and rub my fingertips across my chin. "Well, at least we got that out of the way."

"True." Her head cocks to the side as a server places two small plates on the edge of our table. "Just to get it all out there, I've been married too. Ended in divorce, though."

The stuffed mushrooms follow the plates. We pause to order our entrees and divvy the appetizer. Isabella made the right call with the mushrooms, and I tell her so. Wiping my mouth after the first savory bite, I continue the conversation. "Divorce can be difficult, too."

"It can," she says after swallowing. "But it wasn't."

"Well, this sounds like a story I need to hear." I'm prodding, a habit I have that Alice warned me not to fall into tonight. "That is if you want to share. I don't mean to overstep."

"No," she mumbles through a mouthful. I wait a moment while she chews and takes a sip of water. "My ex-husband and I wanted different things out of life. I met him on a road trip with my girlfriends the summer after our freshman year of college. A surfer living in a camper on the Pacific coast probably wasn't the best person to start a relationship with. But when he showed up at my dorm in Seattle on a whim, I didn't have the heart to turn him away."

"You were reckless in your youth," I tease.

Shaking her head, she chuckles. "Probably. After that, he became a permanent house guest. I forced him to find a job and an apartment. Two years later, we were married."

"And then?"

"And then…life. We had fun at first. I can be high-strung at times. He leveled me out. We took some amazing vacations to tropical locations worldwide where he would surf, and I would soak up the sun, but eventually, my job became more demanding. He was still working as an assistant manager at a sports bar. When I received a promotion that spurred my move to Chicago, it became clear we wanted different things in our lives. He went back to California. I came here."

I nod in understanding. "Well, I, for one, am glad you came here unattached."

Heat flushes her creamy skin in another blush. The coloring stretches from her cheeks down the column of her delicate neck and under the midnight blue fabric of her dress. It's tantalizing and teasing, and I have the instinct to jump across the table and taste her. I refrain. Barely.

I ask how long she's been in the city. It's been two years. I find out her favorite spots are Lincoln Park and Wrigley Field. We chat about baseball and local restaurants, two interests we have in common. As she speaks, I have to force myself to focus on the conversation and not on how her lips move or her hands tell a story along with her words.

She's charming and intoxicating—precisely the type of woman I want.

"Porterhouse and Filet Mignon," our waiter says, breaking the electric field pulsing around our table. Isabella gasps at the sight of her flawless meal; the garlic potatoes and seared asparagus are a perfect accompaniment for the tender meat. I'm fixated as she cuts into the filet and places the first piece in her mouth. Her eyes slip closed as she hums in approval. I want what she's having.

"Jeez, Isabella, you're making me regret my order," I laugh, slicing my porterhouse.

"Sorry." She grins and dips her fork into the potatoes. "You can call me Bella, by the way."

"Bella," I murmur. I like the way the name rolls off my tongue. It's fitting for her.

We enjoy our meals, pausing to watch a proposal a few tables away. Bella cheers and claps when the woman says yes, and I flag Michael down, asking him to take a bottle of champagne to the newly engaged couple.

"A romantic at heart." Bella winks at me.

"Don't tell. I've got a reputation to uphold." I grin, cutting the final pieces of my steak.

After finishing her entire filet and half her sides, Bella places her fork and knife neatly on the side of her plate before leaning back, wine glass in hand. She sips, content to watch out the window while I make quick work of my loaded potato.

"This has been a wonderful evening," she says, placing her napkin gently on the tabletop.

Shit.

Is that it? Is she already calling the night?

I clear my throat, placing down my silverware. "No room for dessert?" Giving what I hope is my most charming smile, my eyes dart to Michael, ready to ask for the sweets menu before Bella can escape.

"Um…" Her lip catches between her teeth as her eyes drop to her lap. "I was thinking we could maybe go elsewhere for dessert."

My heart double taps before it begins to slow, my panic ebbing. She's not done with me yet. "Sure." I shrug. "Where were you thinking?"

"Well… oh, God." She takes a long gulp of water before setting her hesitant gaze on me. "My cousin, Angela, she's in marketing too. She works for the St. Regis, funny enough."

"Oh." I raise a brow, trying to decipher what her anxious demeanor has to do with extended family.

Bella releases a long breath and then sets her shoulders. "Angela gets rooms here for free, and she booked a junior suite for me tonight. Is it presumptuous to ask if you'd like to join me for a nightcap and maybe dessert?"

Stuttering, my fingers search for my non-existent tie. "I, well…"

"Oh, God." Bella drops her head into her palm as a flush climbs her chest. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to imply… the suite has a living room. I thought it could be a good place to talk. That's all I swear."

Images of Bella's midnight blue dress slipping from her shoulders and her long legs wrapping around my waist bombard me. My cock takes attention instantly. It's been far too long since I've been in a position like this with a woman, and my body begs me to see things through.

Collecting myself and telling my rather determined member to calm the hell down, I nod. "I'd love to join you."

Still flushed, she smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay."

"Okay."

I lift my hand in Michael's direction, and he quickly clears our plates. I ask for the bill, sending a grin toward Bella. Her eyes sparkle as if she feels as naughty as I do going to a hotel room on a first date.

Nothing is going to happen. I remind myself.

A drink, maybe some chocolate cake, then I'll be on my way. After all, I have a teenager to pick up in a few hours.

After signing the receipt, I stand to help Bella with her chair and relieve her of the cumbersome jacket as she tries to balance her bouquet with her pocketbook.

She mutters a soft "thank you," linking her arm through mine and allowing me to lead her toward the exit.

"Do you need to go check in?" I ask once we're in the elevator, my finger hovering over the button for the lobby.

"No, Angela gave me the key earlier. We're on the twentieth floor."

I push the twenty button, then stand back, taking a chance and placing one hand on the bare skin of Bella's back. My thumb strokes along her spine, causing her to shiver lightly and lean into my touch—another point for me.

She leads us out of the elevator and down the hall, fiddling with her clutch until she produces a keycard. Stopping outside room twenty-fourteen, she waves the card over the lock until the door clicks open. A nervous smile graces her lips as she pushes inside and glances at me.

My hands find purchase in my pockets. I don't want to spook her, so I take a moment to let her settle as I study the space. The plush white couch in the center of the room faces a large television hanging on the wall. Gold lighting fixtures and window treatments accent the cream walls. It's a perfect mix of class and comfort.

"Um, so Angela arranged for champagne," Bella chuckles under her breath and shakes her head. Next to her, an ice bucket filled with a dry brut sits on the counter.

"We wouldn't want that to go to waste," I tease, pulling the bottle from the ice and untwisting the metal over the cork.

The bottle opens with a satisfying pop while I catch the plug in my hand. Bella passes the set of champagne flutes to me and I pour us tall glasses of the sparkling beverage.

Lifting mine, I toast, "To new beginnings."

Bella clicks her glass against mine, the words "New beginnings" tumbling from her lips.

"Couch?" I ask, gesturing to the most obvious place to get comfortable. She nods and follows me, sitting on one side while I take the other.

"So, Edward." Her glass is already half empty. I tip mine back in an effort to catch up.

"So, Bella," I mimic after I swallow.

"I'm having a nice time with you tonight." Her lips hitch. My ego climbs.

"Does that mean I might have a chance at a second date?" I lean closer. Now that we're alone, the urge to touch her, to place my lips against hers, is taking over every rational thought in my mind.

"You just might." She mimics my motions, her torso hovering over the cushion that separates us.

Is it okay to kiss her on our first date? God, I want to. Her lips are plump and pink. I'm fantasizing about their soft touch against mine, the heat of our tongues tangled together. All other sensations dull. I need to kiss this woman more than I need air.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?" I murmur, our bodies inches away.

Her simple "please" begs me to take action.

I'm slow and tentative. After all, this is the first kiss I've shared with a woman in six years. I'm not sure I know what I'm doing. But kissing Bella is easy, as natural as my heart beating. Her pillowy lips catch mine, chaste at first, testing. But when I open the slightest amount, she's right there with me, her bottom lip catching between mine and my top between hers.

Fire ignites in my veins, flames pulsing from my mouth to my groin. Never before has a kiss affected me to this extent. This woman is electric, sparking desires I long ago buried.

"Holy crap." Bella breaks away fist, breathing heavily, eyes wide. "I've never… I mean, I don't know about you, but that kiss…"

I don't let her finish because now that we've started, I never want to stop. I climb to my knees, my mouth demanding against hers. Restless and ready to get into the action, my tongue slips along the seam of her mouth until she opens, allowing me access to hers.

Groaning, I hover over her, aware that if I drop my weight, she'll be confronted with the unruly situation trying to break free behind the zipper of my slacks. Bella sinks against the arm of the couch, so we're suspended in a horizontal stalemate.

"Edward." She tugs on my sleeve, urging me lower. "You're not going to crush me."

My eyes pinch as I suck air through my nose. "Yeah, but if I get any closer, I'm not sure I will be able to walk away when it's time to stop." As it is, the idea of putting an end to our makeout session has my balls aching.

"Maybe… we don't have to stop."

Doe eyes watch as shock overtakes me.

Is she insinuating we should… have sex? "We can't…"

"I'm not usually that type of girl." Her lip catches between her teeth as she scans my face. "I feel something between us; I don't think this is a one-time thing. I'd like to see you again. But it's been a long time for me. You might be the most attractive man I've met in Chicago, and okay, maybe my cousin gave me a pep talk earlier that, if nothing else, I should try to get some hot sex out of tonight."

I can't help that laugh that rips from my chest.

Jesus Christ.

What do I do with this information?

Could I have sex with this woman? On a first date?

She's beautiful, without a doubt. Intelligent, funny, everything I'm looking for, but isn't the number one rule of dating not jumping into bed too soon?

"You overthink things, don't you?" She asks, brow cocked.

"Guilty as charged." I roll to the side so I'm in between Bella and the couch cushions. "I've never been given a proposal like this."

"If you think about it, it makes sense," she argues. "Before we move forward, we can find out if we're compatible in bed. I think that's an important part of a relationship."

"True, but couldn't we ruin things by moving too fast?" A lock of her hair falls against her forehead as I speak. My fingers are instantly tucking it away.

"We're not new to any of this," she justifies. "We've both been married. We know what we're looking for in a partner. I doubt, in our case, taking things further will change much."

Her reasoning is a good enough excuse for me. Hell, anything would be a good enough excuse for me. Before I can overanalyze, my hand squeezes her trim waist, and my lips are back on hers.

My body rests half on her, the other side crushed against the couch's cushions. I'm unsure where to put my free arm, so when she suggests we take things to the bedroom, I jump to my feet and hold my hand to help her.

Her hips swing, and my eyes glue themselves to her ample bottom as I follow her through the suite. She sends a cocky smirk over her shoulder as she steps out of her heels. Then I watch in a daze as she tugs the skirt of her dress, exposing long-toned legs and creamy thighs I'm desperate to touch.

"God, you're gorgeous," I mutter, my jacket slipping from my shoulders.

We're quick to undress, and soon, I'm standing in black boxer briefs, tented in the front. I admire the lacy lingerie she chose. It matches the dark blue of her dress, with tiny black bows accenting the pieces.

Moments pass as we drink each other in. Bella's the first to climb on the bed, propping herself on her elbows. I'm too dumbstruck to move until she crooks her finger and beckons me to her.

Is this real?

There's no way. I must be dreaming.

I don't want to wake up.

She parts her legs when I climb over her, allowing my hips to settle against hers. Even through the fabric of our underwear, I can feel the heat radiating from her core. Suddenly, I'm seventeen again, desperate to experience the feel of a woman.

Our tongues tangle, and our hands travel, exploring each inch of each other. Bella's delicate grasp finds my bicep, squeezing as I flex. My tentative palm covers her breast, kneading.

"You can take off my bra," she says, arching her back to give me access to the clasps.

So I listen, sighing in awe as her dusty pink nipples come into view. Fighting away all rational thought, I dip my head, taking a hardened peak into my mouth and sucking gently.

Our hips dance, pushing a rhythm against each other that will have me embarrassing myself soon.

And that's when I realize I have not prepared for this.

I freeze, eyes squinting from the pain of having to put a halt to such pleasure.

"What is it?" Bella asks, her hand cupping my cheek in concern.

"I, well, I didn't think this would happen. I didn't bring anything with me. You know, a condom." My eyes slip closed, and I grit my teeth. Her soft body and jasmine scent surround me, making it nearly impossible to keep my pelvis from rocking forward.

"Oh, um, hold on." She squiggles, forcing me to push back and release her. I impatiently wait as she jumps up and jogs into the other room. Returning with her pocketbook, she holds it up sheepishly and pulls a foil packet from inside. My grin stretches wide as she mutters, "Angela."

She hands the condom to me before slipping off her panties and gesturing for me to ditch my boxers. Within seconds, we're both naked, and I'm rolling the latex over myself.

I catch her watching me, her tongue poking out to lick her lips. "Impressive." Her brows lift along with my ego.

"Thanks." Chuckling, I take my place over her. "Ready?"

She grins, palms resting on my shoulders. "More than."

Her knees fall to the side as I guide myself to her entrance. My eyelids drop as I push forward, the tight warmth almost too much to handle after so long. "Jesus, you feel amazing."

"Keep going," she urges, her pelvis tilting upward, engulfing me further.

My thrusts are slow at first as I savor the feel of my length sinking inside her, but soon, I pick up the pace, chasing the sensations we crave.

"Oh, Lord, Edward. This is so good," she cries, face buried in my neck.

I shudder as she licks along the strained muscles of my neck. My hips buck, our skin begins to slap, and her nails dig into my lats. My confidence grows along with her moans, and too soon, I'm close to climax, holding off because—She. Has. To. Come. First.

My fingers travel from the side of her hip to the top of her folds. I watch her face as I find her most sensitive spot. She lets out a breathy "Oh," her hips rolling and walls clenching around me as I circle my thumb gently.

"I'm… I'm…" Her voice pitches higher as her muscles tense. I place more pressure against her clit, thrust deeper, and she's gone, cascading off the edge just before I join her. An explosion of bliss radiates from my core along every nerve as I spill inside her.

Her head falls against a pillow as her body goes lax. My arms shake with the effort of holding myself up as my forehead dips against hers.

"You know what?" she giggles. "I think we're compatible in bed."

"Yeah. I'm getting the same feeling." I place a kiss against her cheek before forcing myself up to dispose of the condom.

I go through the motions quickly, eager to return to the bed and hold this amazing woman in my arms. She's under the covers when I return from the bathroom, and she lifts the sheets to welcome me in. She cuddles against my chest as I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close.

"When can I see you again?" I ask. Is tomorrow too soon?

"I'm completely free on Sunday." Her finger traces my chest as she speaks.

"It's a date." I can't wipe the smile from my face.

In our post-coital euphoria, we gently stroke skin, asking questions and getting to know each other. I'm shocked at how many things we agree on. I can see myself falling in love with her over time, and my past relationship never enters my mind.

I don't feel guilty. It's time to move on to the next stage of life.

When I am forced to peel myself away from her to pick up Seth, I promise she'll hear from me first thing in the morning. With plans to meet for lunch on Sunday, I redress and leave her with a final kiss I have to break before I refuse to leave.

As I return to the hotel valet, there's a skip in my step. It must be obvious because the guy who hands me my keys laughs and says, "Looks like you had a good night." I roll my eyes but tip him with a ten because, yep, best night in a long time.

Forty-five minutes later, I'm pulling in front of Seth's friend's house and texting my son. He replies with a "give me five," so I flip text threads and send a "really enjoyed tonight" to a particular lady I can't wait to see again.

"Hey." The passenger door swings open, and Seth drops into the seat.

"How'd it go?" I ask, shifting to drive.

Seth's mouth twitches as if he's holding back a grin. "Good."

"Good?" I scoff. "You've got to give me more than that."

He rolls his eyes, but a sparkle in them tells me his night was more than good. "I don't know Dad. It was fun."

"How'd things go with Rachel?"

It's a loaded question, and I know it. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he formulates his answer, deciding what information I get to know. He sucks on his cheeks and glances out the window before he says, "She let me kiss her." His face breaks into a smile, and hell, I know exactly how he feels.

"Yeah? Congratulations."

"Yeah. And, Dad, you were right. Girls like all that mushy stuff you were talking about earlier."

"Do they?" I try to hide my laughter as I check over my shoulder and merge lanes.

"I don't think Uncle Emmett knows what he's talking about."

I can't hold back at Seth's summary, chuckles breaking free.

From my dashboard, my phone lights up with a message.

I had an amazing night. I can't wait until Sunday.

The text is highlighted with a kissy face emoji. Seth sees it. I see that Seth sees it. My hand finds the back of my neck, awkwardly rubbing as I search for a way to explain to my son who Isabella is.

But before I can say a word, he jumps in. "Good for you, Dad. It's about time."

"You don't think I'm too old to be dating?" I ask, sure my teenage son will be disgusted by the idea of his father in a relationship.

"Eh, I mean, it's gross and all, but you probably shouldn't be alone forever. If I have a girlfriend, I guess you should too."

"A girlfriend, huh?"

He doesn't answer, a permanent grin on his face as his phone lights up with a notification. I lose him to a text thread with the girl he's interested in.

A few cracks in my heart heal as I pull into the driveway at home.

My son and I are going to be okay.


A/N: I hope you all enjoyed!

For those of you waiting for a La Bellissima update, I JUST finished the rough draft of chapter 16. I am hoping to get it to Fran and Mary in the next couple of days and out to you all shortly there after. Thank you for being patient with me. Life has been beyond stressful recently!