Ninth date, and Ollie was still pretty sure this had to be some kind of dream they’d forgotten to wake up from.
She was radiant in the low restaurant light, curls pinned back just enough to show off her earrings—delicate little seashells Ollie had given her after their third date. Her smile was soft, teasing, her leg brushing against theirs beneath the booth with casual familiarity.
"You always hum when you're thinking," she said, sipping her drink with a knowing smirk.
Ollie paused mid-hum, wide-eyed. “Do not.”
“You do,” she said, laughing. “It’s cute.”
Their ears turned pink. “Stop psychoanalyzing me and eat your fries.”
She leaned in. “You brought me here. You don’t get to boss me around and be adorable.”
“I’m not adorable,” Ollie grumbled, picking at their shark keychain, trying to look anywhere else but at her lips.
“Okay, tough guy.”
She reached across the table and tapped the edge of Ollie’s blue-polished fingers, lingering just a moment too long.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” she said, sliding from the booth gracefully. “Don’t fall in love with anyone while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” Ollie called after her, heart racing.
They slumped back with a long exhale, gaze flicking to the half-empty plate between them. She always left her pickles for Ollie. They grinned at that. Ninth date and she still looked at them like they were the only person in the room. Ollie was halfway into daydreaming about what kind of mixtape they'd make her next when it happened.
“Yo.”
Ollie looked up to find three guys hovering near the table, phones in hand, staring like they'd just discovered a glitch in the simulation.
“That her?” one of them asked, jerking his chin toward the direction she’d walked off in.
Ollie blinked. “Uh… yeah?”
“No way,” another scoffed. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating her and didn’t know who she is?”
“She’s literally everywhere,” the third guy added, disgusted. “Nine dates? You didn’t Google her once?”
“She’s an international supermodel, man. Like… covers, runways, fashion weeks. Milan. Paris. Tokyo. And you’re sitting here with shark nail polish and a binder like you scored a coupon or something.”
They laughed as they walked away, muttering insults Ollie only half-registered.
Heart hammering, they scrambled to pull up their phone. It didn’t take much—just her first name and a quick search—and there she was.
Photos. Videos. Headlines. Designer labels they couldn’t pronounce. Red carpets and studio shoots and interviews in languages Ollie didn’t even speak.
Their stomach dropped.
“Holy shit,” they whispered, staring at a photo of her in a sapphire gown, smiling into flashing cameras.
They were still frozen like that when she returned.
“Sorry,” she said easily, sliding back into the booth like the world hadn’t just tilted sideways. “Line was long.”
Ollie swallowed hard. “You’re… famous.”
She tilted her head, smile twitching. “Ah. So someone told you.”
Ollie looked at her like they were trying to see her again for the first time—same dimples, same little freckle by her lip, same soft eyes. But now, she looked like a secret.
“I thought you were just… hot,” Ollie mumbled. “Like, cartoon-character hot. But you’re—you have a Wikipedia page.”
She laughed gently, but didn’t mock them. “I wanted to tell you. But I liked being seen as me, not as her.”
“I gave you a plastic shark ring,” Ollie said faintly.
“And I still wear it when I miss you,” she replied, her voice softer now.
Ollie’s lips parted, but no words came. The weight of it all sat heavy in their chest—how someone so bright had chosen them, binder, shark keychain, mixtape and all.
“I didn’t know,” they whispered. “And I still liked you so much it scared me.”
She reached out, brushing her thumb over their knuckles.
“That’s why I like you,” she said. “You saw me before you saw everything else.”
Ollie glanced up at her, their walls beginning to crumble.
“So… we’re still on for Friday?”
She smiled wide, no cameras, no lights—just her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”