Page 11 of Make You Mine

Amerie

“God,” Chelsea mutters, standing back to admire her work. “You look stunning , Amerie. Declan’s jaw’ll be on the floor.”

I glance at her reflection in the mirror, smiling faintly. Her eyes are alight, almost reverent, and it’s not just flattery. She actually means it.

“You think so?” I ask, smoothing the waist of the silk dress over my hips.

“Think so?” She scoffs softly and steps closer, plucking the lipstick from the vanity with a flourish. “You’re gorgeous. Come here. Just one more swipe and we’re golden.”

I hold still, lips parted slightly, as she leans in and brushes the mauve pink over the curve of my bottom lip with an unexpectedly delicate touch. Her brows knit in focus, then she steps back, gives a curt little nod, and caps the lipstick with a triumphant flick.

“Perfect,” she mutters.

My gaze shifts back to the mirror, my hand smoothing the silk fabric over my hips. The fit isn’t exactly forgiving. Six months postpartum and my waistline still hasn’t snapped back the way it did after Willow. My fingers linger near my ribcage, pressing lightly.

Chelsea notices, the lipstick tube in hand. “You alright?”

I offer a weak smile. “Just not sure about this dress. It’s a little… tight.”

Her eyes drift down to assess the fit, and for a second I think she might agree. But then she waves it off with a flick of her hand. “Nonsense. You look gorgeous. Honestly, I’m sure Declan doesn’t mind the extra curves one bit.”

I try to laugh, but it doesn’t make me feel any less unsure when I glance in the mirror and notice how the slinky fabric clings to my hips.

“You smell heavenly. What is that?”

“Velvet Sin,” I murmur, reaching for the frosted bottle. “Declan loves it. Says something about it activates the feral part of the male brain. Here, have a spritz.”

I spray a mist over her wrist, and she lifts her arm to her nose with an exaggerated inhale.

“Mmmm. Lovely. If my crush catches a whiff of this on me, I’ll have him falling at my feet.”

I laugh, fastening one of my earrings. “When that day comes, I owe you a dress to match. You can borrow any of mine.”

“That’d be the dream,” she says wistfully, before turning at the sound of little feet padding down the hall.

Willow pokes her head into the doorway, wide-eyed and full of curiosity, her braids frizzy from the chaos of the day. “Oooh… Mommy, you look so pretty!” she squeals, bouncing on the spot like her little legs can’t hold still.

I kneel down with open arms and scoop her up, planting a kiss to her cheek as I carry her back into the bedroom. Her small hands clutch at the neckline of my dress as she beams at me.

“Do I?” I ask, smiling into her soft hair. “Guess that makes two of us, baby girl.”

She lets out a giggle, then cranes her neck to look at Chelsea. “Can I have lipstick too? Just a little?”

Chelsea and I exchange an amused look.

“Maybe just a little.” I set her down on the foot of the bed, taking the tube of lipstick and pressing a faint sheen to her lips.

Willow watches in awe as I grab a small hand mirror to show her.

“Look!” she gasps. “Mommy, I look like you!”

“You do, Lo. Except way cuter,” I say, tapping her nose. “Now, promise me you’ll be good while we’re gone. No sneaking extra cookies, no jumping on the sofa, and bed by nine.”

She nods solemnly, swinging her legs as she recites, “Uh-huh, yup! We’re gonna watch the Lilo movie and eat popcorn and Chelsea said maybe ice cream too. Just a little!”

I chuckle and reach for my second earring. “Thanks again for tonight, Chelsea.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says with a proud grin, hands tucked into the pockets of her woolly cardigan. “You two deserve a night off. Go have a lovely time. I’ve got everything under control.”

As I glance at her, I almost sense the briefest flicker of longing. It’s in how her smile doesn’t reach her eyes all the way, even with her large glasses to hide behind. It serves as a reminder that Chelsea’s admitted herself she doesn’t have much of a personal life.

Maybe Declan and I can set her up with one of the junior analysts at his company. Someone introverted and studious that might vibe well with her.

I press a kiss to Willow’s head and take one final look in the mirror. I’m still not sure about how this dress clings to my hips, but there’s no more time to dwell on it. I step into the hall and begin my descent down the stairs, heels tapping softly against the wooden steps.

Declan looks up from the hall and goes still.

A low whistle thrums from him. “Who’s that gorgeous lass with all those curves?”

Heat warms my cheeks, and I roll my eyes even as a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “This gorgeous lass is your wife.”

“Exactly why I’m the luckiest bastard in the world. C’mere.”

He catches me the second I hit the last step, his arm hooking tight around my waist as he pulls me flush against him. His mouth finds mine without hesitation, his kiss greedy and passionate enough to make my legs sway slightly in their heels. It’s a sign of what’s to come.

We break apart only when a tiny voice pipes up above us.

“Bye, Mommy! Bye, Daddy!”

Willow and Chelsea are watching from the staircase, waving from the landing like the farewell committee. Chelsea’s got one hand on Willow’s shoulder and the other wrapped around a mug of tea. I grin and wave back, offering a playful warning. “Be good, Lo. And call us if anything comes up, okay?”

Willow nods eagerly. Chelsea lifts her mug in salute.

Then the door clicks shut behind us, and something in the air shifts.

A breath we’ve both been holding all day finally lets go.

Outside, the sky is a dusky lavender and the evening breeze teases the hem of my dress. Declan laces his fingers through mine as we walk to the car, his thumb brushing the top of my hand. We don’t say much at first. We don’t need to. The silence between us feels like ease, not tension.

But there’s an undercurrent of other things too.

Anticipation and the thrill of remembering who we were before kids and bills and glucose monitors.

We share the same crooked, excited smile as he opens the passenger door for me and leans in to kiss my temple.

“Let’s go remind ourselves,” he says, “how damn good we are together.”

And just like that, the night begins.

Hotstone sits tucked along a sleek stretch of polished shops, all dark wood paneling and golden light spilling through tall glass.

The kind of restaurant where everything feels low-lit and expensive, like even breathing air costs money.

It’s known for its melt-in-your-mouth Wagyu and seasonal chef’s menus, and reservations are practically gold during peak months.

Declan and I arrive just after seven, stepping in from the cool evening after the long train ride into the city. The minute we walk through the doors, I’m hit with that warm, familiar scent—sizzling beef, soy glaze, toasted sesame—and something inside me exhales.

It reminds me of the first trip we ever took together, back when everything between us still felt shiny and new. We’d only been dating for maybe four or five months when Declan invited me to join him in the UK. He was coming to visit his family and said he wanted to see me.

At the time, it felt so reckless and impulsive that I almost said no.

Flying across the Atlantic to see a man I was still getting to know?

It sounded like the kind of thing you regret later.

But he made it easy, promising I didn’t have to meet his family unless I wanted to.

The trip was just about us spending time together and enjoying ourselves.

And that’s exactly what we did. Belfast, London, Bath… we spent several amazing days together until I realized I wanted to meet his family after all.

How could I not? He was everything I was looking for in a man.

He brought me over for Sunday roast, and his family immediately made me feel welcomed.

I didn’t even know it at the time, but I’m pretty sure I fell in love with him on that trip.

Declan’s hand rests on the small of my back as we step into Hotstone. The host greets us by name and leads us past the other diners, deeper into the heart of the restaurant where the air feels even warmer, the lighting even softer.

We’re shown to a table near the stone grill, and as I slide into my seat across from him, I catch the look on his face. That same look from years ago—fond, fixed, like I’m still the best thing he’s ever seen.

It serves as an instant reminder that tonight isn’t about pretending things are okay; it’s about remembering how real we are to begin with.

We’re each poured a glass of pinot noir. I swirl mine gently and study the rich color catching the light, already anticipating how it’ll taste with the Wagyu. Declan lifts his glass first, that faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“To the meal we’re about to demolish.”

“And to finally getting a night out without spit-up on my shoulder,” I add, clinking my glass against his.

The first sip is warm and smooth going down, and I’m still savoring the finish when Declan leans back in his chair, his gaze soft but alert.

“Do you remember our first proper date?” he asks, voice edged in amusement. There’s a playful glint in his eyes, that shade of green that always makes me think of the Irish moorland.

I tilt my head, twirling the stem of my glass between my fingers as I stall. “You mean the pina colada at that beach bar doesn’t count?”

He lets out a gruff laugh, the kind that’s all chest and brogue. “No, love. The pina colada doesn’t count. And neither do those tequila shots you and your mate threw back after I left.”

“Hold up. How do you know about those?”

“Put it on my tab, remember? I covered your whole evening.”