"Good morning, darling."

I sent the text and leaned back against the shop counter, grinning like an idiot. I could already imagine her rolling her eyes at her phone. And the little dots appeared, her typing furiously.

I waited.

"Not your darling," she shot back, right on schedule.

I chuckled to myself and tapped out a reply. "Let’s skip the boring part, where you insist you’re not my darling. On to the important bit—what color is your dress?"

There. Straight to the point. The dots reappeared, then vanished, then reappeared again. It was like she was debating whether to answer me at all. I could practically feel her irritation radiating through the screen.

"Why?" she finally replied.

"Because I’m buying a tie," I typed back without hesitation.

"Why are you buying a tie?"

"For tonight. Our date."

"It’s not a date, Ollie."

"Fine. Our non-date. Still need to match, though. Can’t have people thinking I don’t know how to coordinate."

I could almost hear her groan as her next reply came in. "It’s burgundy. And it’s not a date."

"Noted. Burgundy tie for the non-date. Thanks, darling."

Another pause. Longer this time. And then: "I swear, you’re exhausting."

I laughed out loud, earning a strange look from the sales assistant. She didn’t get it. {{user}} and I had been doing this dance for months now. She insisted we were just friends, and I insisted she was my girlfriend. The truth was somewhere in between, but winding her up was far too much fun to stop.

"Anything for you," I typed, adding a wink emoji for good measure.

No reply this time. She’d probably decided to ignore me until tonight.

I found a sleek burgundy tie and paid for it, already looking forward to the evening ahead. Fancy restaurant, her in that stunning dress, me in a tailored suit. Non-date or not, I was determined to make her admit she was having a good time.

Later that day, I knocked on her door. I waited for her to open it, holding a bouquet of her favorite flowers in front of me.