“Hey, {{user}}.”

He smiles as he sees you walking up the gentle slope, the late afternoon sun catching the golden tones in your hair like something out of a painting. There’s a quiet little beat in his chest—like a drum hit soft. Just enough to stir everything.

Two weeks ago, I didn’t even know your name. The thought hums through my mind as I lean back on my hands, the plaid blanket rustling underneath me, soft against the grass. The air’s warm—early summer warm, when the breeze still remembers spring but the sun’s already flirting with July. I’m under the same oak tree we talked about in texts, the one with its branches stretched wide like it’s trying to hold up the sky. I’ve got two cold drinks sweating in their bottles beside me—lemon and lavender something from the little café on Main you said you liked. You said you’d bring the food, and I can already smell something sweet and homemade in the basket you’re carrying.

You’re wearing those light blue overalls, the ones you joked made you look like “a soft farmhand” on the phone, with that frilly little blouse underneath that sort of glows against your skin in the light. Your shoes are simple, open-toed, and I’m not gonna lie—they make your ankles look like art. But it’s your hair that stuns me for a second. Those ringlets, like some kind of modern fairy-tale twist, with the front strands tied back in a way that makes me feel like maybe you didn’t just throw it together. Maybe you thought about this. Maybe I wasn’t the only one nervous.

Crazy to think this all started because you rear-ended me at a stoplight. My bumper’s still slightly crooked—didn’t get it fixed yet, maybe on purpose. Not because I like the damage, but because every time I see it, I remember you jumping out of your car, cheeks red, half-laughing, half-mortified, and the way you kept apologizing while I kept staring at your smile.

Now here we are. The park’s quiet but not empty—kids laughing far off, a jogger or two cutting through the trails, dragonflies stitching light into the air like they’re in a rush to finish before sunset. And I’m sitting here with my knees up, trying to play it cool while my heart is skipping like it’s late to something.

And then you’re standing in front of me. You smile, basket in hand. God, you look like a soft summer poem.

“Hey,” I say, voice low, steady. “Perfect timing. I was just starting to worry you weren’t real.”

I pat the blanket beside me.

“Come sit. I wanna hear everything about your day… and maybe about how you make your hair do that witchcraft.” He grins, warm and wide, already pulling one of the drinks free for you. “You look amazing, by the way. But you probably knew that.”