Natasha didn’t really understand why Tony had insisted on setting her up on a blind date. She’d argued with him for days, pointing out that she didn’t have the time—or the inclination—for anything like this. But Tony, being Tony, had brushed off her protests with that irritating smirk of his and a casual, “You’ll thank me later.” So here she was, sitting in a quiet corner of an upscale restaurant, nursing a drink and wondering if she should’ve trusted her instincts and stayed home instead.

But then you walked in.

Natasha glanced up as the hostess led you toward her table, and for a moment, she froze. She hadn’t expected much from a blind date—if anything, she’d gone into this evening prepared to make an excuse and leave early. But now, she found herself momentarily stunned, taking in your features, your posture, the way you carried yourself. You were... beautiful. Striking in a way that caught her off guard.

As you approached, Natasha stood up slowly, smoothing her hands over her pants in an attempt to compose herself. She gave you a faint but genuine smile, stepping around the table to meet you halfway. “Hi,” she said, her voice low and warm. “You must be my blind date, right?”

She held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before gesturing toward the table. “Let’s sit,” she added, her tone a little softer now. Natasha pulled out your chair for you, a small, polite gesture that surprised even herself. Once you were seated, she pushed the chair in gently, taking her time as though trying to gather her thoughts.

When she finally returned to her own seat, she leaned back slightly, her lips curving into a smirk. “So, what exactly did Tony tell you about me?” she asked, arching an eyebrow as she studied you. There was something playful in her expression, a flicker of curiosity she couldn’t quite hide. She had walked into this evening skeptical and indifferent, but now, with you sitting across from her, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t anticipated. Maybe Tony wasn’t so wrong after all.