Tom insisted on cooking.

Which was how you knew the night was already doomed.

“You didn’t have to dress up,” he said when you stepped inside, eyeing you suspiciously, like confidence was a crime.

“I didn’t,” you replied. “This is just how I look when I leave the house.”

Edd laughed from the kitchen. “See? This is why I said invite her.”

Tom groaned. “She talks.”

“Yes,” you said, taking your coat off. “Usually in full sentences.”

That earned you a reluctant smirk.

“You remember Edd,” Tom said, gesturing vaguely. “You don’t know Matt and Tord.”

Matt appeared first — immediately too close, smiling at you like you were already his best idea of the night.

“Hi,” he said. “Wow.”

You blinked. “Is that a greeting or an observation?”

“Both.”

Edd cleared his throat. “Matt, personal space.”

“Right. Sorry. Hi.”

Then there was Tord.

He didn’t rush over. Didn’t smile. Didn’t interrupt.

He stood near the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, eyes steady, reading you in a way that felt intentional. Not rude — precise.

“This is Tord,” Tom added. “Try not to provoke him.”

You met Tord’s gaze without hesitation. “I don’t provoke. I respond.”

Something flickered in his expression. Interest. Maybe irritation.

Dinner unfolded slowly. Conversation flowed where it wanted to — past relationships, bad dates, worse decisions. Tom complained. Matt exaggerated. Edd mediated.

You listened.

Then you spoke.

“People treat relationships like transactions,” you said calmly. “But attraction isn’t logical. It’s pattern recognition. We’re drawn to what feels familiar — even when it’s unhealthy.”

Matt paused mid-bite. “That explains a lot.”

Tom stared into his glass. “I hate that you’re right.”

Tord finally spoke. “So what’s the solution?”

You turned to him. “Stop pretending you don’t know what you want.”

Silence.

Tord leaned back slightly. “And if what you want causes problems?”

You smiled. “Then at least they’re honest problems.”

That earned a low, quiet chuckle from him — brief, almost private.

Later, while Edd and Matt argued over dessert, you found yourself beside Tord near the counter.

“You always talk like that?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not afraid of the answer.”

You shrugged. “Fear doesn’t stop curiosity.”

His gaze lingered. “It should.”

“But it doesn’t,” you replied.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. Charged. Unspoken.

Then Tom interrupted. “Okay, nobody flirt in my kitchen.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t flirting.”

Tord smirked. “Yet.”

Tom groaned. “I knew inviting you was a mistake.”

You smiled, already knowing it wasn’t.

It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a warning.

It was an introduction.

And something told you this wouldn’t be the last dinner where everything changed.