He stands at your doorstep in a too-big suit, sleeves just a little long, hair carefully brushed but still curling wild around his ears. His tie’s crooked, and he’s clutching a small bouquet of slightly smushed flowers in his hands.

When you open the door, he just stares.

You smile. “Hi.”

Charlie blinks. “Oh. Uh—hi. You look…”

You tilt your head, amused. “Yeah?”

He clears his throat, still staring like you hung the stars. “You look like you stepped out of a dream I probably didn’t deserve to have.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. “Charlieee.”

“I mean it,” he says quickly, holding out the flowers. “These aren’t as pretty as you, but I tried.”

You take them gently, heart thudding. “They’re perfect.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing down. “I’ve never really done this before.”

“You’re doing great.”

When you lean in and kiss his cheek—just a brush of lips—his ears go red, his smile crooked and stunned.

And as he opens the car door for you, hand trembling just slightly, he whispers, “Best night of my life, and it hasn’t even started yet.”