10. Birdie

Confession: I want to fall in love.

If I died and went to heaven, it would be in this apartment.

I hadn't been to any of the rooms other than the living room and the bathroom, where I was changing into the new dress, but I was already in love.

The whole place smelled like cinnamon. It was decorated simply with plants growing in kitschy hanging pots. I wanted to ask him where the decor came from, but I didn't want to find out it was an ex who had just moved out. Or would be back in a week or two.

My heart couldn't take it. Not least because I'd just lost a fiancé and gained an ex.

That's not what tonight's about, I reminded myself. It was about the rebound. But first, I had to show him this dress. He'd specifically requested it, and what came after would be a million times better; I could feel it in my bones. And maybe his boner. (Too soon? I'll see myself out.)

I slid the fabric over my chest, and it draped easily over my hips. It was the type of dress I always wanted to wear but would never in a billion years be brave enough to buy for myself. Much less wear in public.

I examined myself in the gilded mirror, taking it in. The fruity print was perfect for fall—a mix of peaches and pears and plums with a few bursts of bright green foliage thrown in. Plus, it nipped in around my waist, giving me at least the illusion of an hourglass shape.

An image of Cohen hiking my skirt to have me over his counter flashed through my mind. I shuddered and quickly left the bathroom in anticipation of making the fantasy real.

He stood in his kitchen, mixing something at the island. The smell of cinnamon was there, but something sweet too.

He held out a cup with a cinnamon stick and said, "Nightcap?"

I nodded and took a sip. "Oh my gosh, it's amazing." There was a hint of Fireball and cider, giving it the perfect blend of heat and flavor.

He smiled. "I used to bartend before I bought the bar. I still step in here and there if I need to."

My mother would be appalled if she knew I was in the same room as a bartender. It made me even happier to be there.

Then I realized I was thinking about my mom at Cohen's house. Yikes. This was so not the time.

As he sipped from his cup, he looked me up and down. "Do a spin."

The order uttered in the low timber of his voice made a shiver go up my spine, and I obliged.

"Slower."

It was one word. But it made electricity dance along my skin. I turned slowly, feeling his eyes on every inch of my body. And for once, I wasn't thinking about the size of my thighs or the stretchmarks on my stomach. No, I was thinking about what he was going to do with me—and what I wanted to do to him.

"That's it," he said. "You're beautiful no matter what you wear."

A smile grew on my face, unable to be restrained. "Thank you."

He leaned against the island. "I like that about you."

"What?"

"That you can take a compliment. Because you are. Beautiful. You should know that."

I let out a soft laugh. "I'm not sure I know that."

"Really?"

I nodded, leaning against the counter so we were standing across from each other. "My mom was pretty strict about my eating. And my ex wasn't exactly thrilled about my size."

Cohen's eyebrows rose. "What?"

"He never said anything outright fatphobic to me, but it was there. You know, in the way he kept the lights off in the bedroom or the gym memberships he sprang on me or the exercise equipment he bought so we could work on ourselves ‘together.'" My eyes misted over, and I shook my head. How had I been so blind to his flaws? They seemed to be crashing at me now, assuring me of what a colossal mistake Dax had been. I didn't want to be that girl who let a guy tear her down. But I wasn't going to lie and say it didn't hurt. Feeling like you're not enough to the people you love most is the worst thing in the world.

"He's an idiot," Cohen said as simply as if he'd told me the sky was blue.

I gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you for that."

He nodded. "And your mom? Crazy. Although, I know a thing or two about difficult parents."

"Yeah?"

He took another drink and looked down at his cup. "That might be a story for another day." When he turned his sea-green eyes back on me, they seemed darker somehow. "I want to know more about Birdie Melrose."

I set my cup on the counter and looked at him, feeling more vulnerable than I had before. Less brave. "I just got out of a relationship. We were actually engaged. And I don't think I'm really ready to date right now."

His lips quirked slightly, and he pinned me with those eyes, making me feel more naked than I'd been in the bar's kitchen. Barer than I'd been in the skimpy dress.

"Tell me, Birdie," he said, his voice husky. "What is it you want?"

I want to fall in love.

The words popped in my mind faster than anything else.

I wanted the fairytale wedding and a house with a beautiful window to perch Ralphie's cage in and a husband to hug me from behind when he got off work. I wanted vacations on the beach and winters in the mountains and side-by-side headstones when we died. (Preferably, we'd go holding hands like they did in The Notebook.)

Okay, maybe that last bit was morbid, but you get the point.

I wanted love.

But for tonight, I steeled my heart and said, "I want you, in bed."