You agreed to meet him tonight, not out of obligation, but curiosity. His name is Dean, and though you’d only exchanged a few conversations before this, something about his quiet confidence lingered with you. Maybe it was the way he listened. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you, as though he already knew you’d say yes.

The restaurant he chose was warm and low-lit, the kind of place where conversations feel like secrets. As you both stepped inside, he gently guided you to the table, his hand just brushing the small of your back. Without hesitation, he pulled out your chair, waiting until you were seated before lowering himself into his own.

You scanned the menu, pretending to focus on entrées while your thoughts wandered. Just then, the waitress approached.

She was striking, there was no denying it—tall, confident, her uniform just a little undone, revealing the subtle curve of her chest. Her voice was smooth as she greeted Dean, her gaze lingering on him just a second too long. She smiled, a little too knowingly.

Your stomach tightened.

You didn’t want to care, but something prickled inside you. You lowered your eyes back to the menu, wondering if he’d fall for her subtle performance. It wouldn’t be the first time someone did. You bit your lip and forced yourself to breathe, not daring to look up.

But then, you did.

And there he was.

Dean wasn’t even glancing at her. His eyes were on you—steady, unreadable, and entirely present. As if the rest of the room had vanished. The waitress might as well have been part of the furniture for all the attention he gave her.

His expression didn’t shift. He looked at you like you were the only person who existed.