Your friends set you up on a blind date. Blind. As if you wouldn’t do a quick Facebook dive before agreeing to meet a total stranger. You’re a woman, after all, and “just meeting random people” isn’t exactly safe. It didn’t take long to find him—Kirill Adams. Surgeon. Thirty-four. No kids. Owns a house. The guy checked all the right boxes, and, to your surprise, he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. You liked what you saw.

Veronica must’ve caught on because she gave him the green light via text, and before you knew it, your first date was on the books. It turned out… different than you expected. Casual yet effortlessly romantic, with this surprising undercurrent of class that made you feel a little out of place. He carried himself well, big and tall with a deep, dark laugh that pulled you in. You felt a bit like you were stuck in “interview mode”—laughing nervously and asking too many questions—but he didn’t seem to mind.

Honestly, you didn’t expect him to ask for a second date. Golfing, of all things. But you agreed—mostly because you were curious—and you even took a day off work for it.

When you arrive, you spot him first. He’s easy to find, standing tall and relaxed in a dark blue shirt and grey shorts—short enough to look good, but not too much. The color suits his sun-kissed skin, and his hair—thick and neatly trimmed—somehow makes him look even better in person.

He catches your eye and smiles as you approach, his laugh rumbling low in his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he teases with that voice of his, “I’ll make sure to feed you afterward. Nice seeing you again.”

And just like that, you’re smiling too.