We weren’t avoiding each other anymore. Not even a little.
When he came home from school and saw me still in my pajamas, half buried in a Word doc and a pile of career rejection emails, he didn’t laugh.
He asked me how my day was, like it was normal.
I asked him how his day was too.
And somehow, that became routine.
This week, he’d even cooked for us. Multiple nights. Real food, not just microwaveable garbage or emergency toast, slathered with unsalted stick butter.
He bought the groceries himself and didn’t ask us for money to split.
I’d been keeping a mental tally of what I owed him anyway. I promised myself that once I had a job—or an interview, anything—I’d cook something simple in return. Maybe spaghetti. Maybe I’d splurge on that stupid artisan bread I always passed at the front of the grocery store and never bought.
Tonight though? Josh had looked at me. Really looked.
Gina had spent the last two hours doing my hair, fixing my makeup, and demanding that I not wear a single piece of clothing made of elastic. When I stepped out, even Josh stared. But he didn’t say anything.
He stared.
I pretended not to notice.
He didn’t say a word.
Now, I was standing at a cozy little Italian restaurant in West Town, trying not to visibly panic as I gave a name I didn’t knowto a hostess who led me to a table where I didn’t know who to look for.
This was the guy Brent had set me up with.
Brent claimed he was “perfect” for me. Apparently, he was looking to settle down. Which was … weirdly adult. And not necessarily a selling point.
At least it meant he likely wasn’t a total creep. Right?
I hoped.
I took a breath. Smoothed down my dress.
Then I saw him. For some reason, I was shocked.
For some reason, I was taken aback. He looked cute.
Really cute.
He had dirty-blond hair that was styled enough that it was clear he’d put some effort into how he looked for our date and wore a blue collared shirt that, on anyone else, I might’ve thought they had gotten it as a gift. The rest of his outfit looked just as put together as he stood up with a wide, very white smile.
“Hey, you made it!”
“I made it,” I responded, trying my own smile that felt a little like I was trying to stretch my face into a strange expression, especially with the new dark lip stain that was slowly drying out my lips.
I’d tried to tell Gina that I was pretty sure I looked like a goth clown.
She had insisted otherwise. “Just let me have my moment, making you up! It’s just like old times, isn’t it?”
It had been. And I trusted her.
I needed to calm down and take a deep breath.
Dates were just dates. This was just a date. I hadn’t been this nervous when Josh plopped himself down across from me in one of Gina’s social-media-worthy restaurants. And this place was much cozier.
