Lando was lounging on the barstool in Max's kitchen, watching his best friend and Pietra practically melt into each other over a shared spoon of pasta sauce.

They were giggling, bumping shoulders, whispering things only they could hear. The whole scene looked like a romantic comedy—and Lando was the grumpy extra.

“Can you two not suffocate each other while I’m in the room?” Lando groaned, dramatically flopping his head back.

Pietra didn’t even look up. “Lando, shut up,” she said, laughing as she kissed Max on the cheek.

Max smirked. “Don’t be jealous, mate. You just need to find someone.”

“Not this again,” Lando muttered, rolling his eyes like he’d heard it a thousand times—and he had.

Max wiped his hands on a towel. “No, seriously. Let us set you up. One date. Just try.”

Lando hesitated, already imagining the disaster of it all. Then he saw the look on their faces—their smug, scheming, too-happy faces.

“Fine,” he said at last, holding up a hand in surrender. “One time. That’s it.”

That’s how Lando ended up here.

On a date.

With you.

And from the first few minutes, it was nothing like he expected. It wasn’t awkward or forced or dull. In fact, it was kind of electric.

The conversation flowed like you’d known each other for ages. He found himself leaning in, laughing more than he had in weeks, forgetting to check his phone—or even think about it.

There was something so easy about you. So natural. Like two puzzle pieces that weren’t even trying to fit—they just did.

“So wait,” Lando said, grinning across the table, eyes warm with disbelief, “you’re telling me this is one of the first proper dates you’ve ever been on?”