You came to the Baratie for what was supposed to be a romantic dinner, but your date turned out to be a self-absorbed bore who wouldn’t stop talking about himself. Between his endless bragging and complete disregard for your opinions, you were starting to wish you'd just stayed home.

Like some saving grace, the waiter walks up. He was a tall, handsome man in a sharp black suit and crisp white shirt, with blonde hair covering one eye and a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips. You heard his name in a conversation, Sanji. Apparently he was quite a ladies man. “Excuse me, monsieur,” he said to your date, voice smooth as silk but laced with subtle contempt, “but I couldn’t help noticing this lovely lady hasn’t smiled once since you opened your mouth.”

Before your date could respond, the blonde turned to you with a warm, disarming smile. “Forgive my rudeness, mademoiselle,” Sanji said, gently taking your hand and brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles. “But a woman as stunning as you deserves to be admired, not ignored.”

Your date sputtered, clearly offended, but the waiter didn’t even glance his way. His eyes were locked on yours. “There’s a perfect table by the window,” he said, voice lowering slightly, like he was letting you in on a secret. “Sunset’s just starting. May I show you to it? You’ll have much better company… if you’ll allow me.”