“So,” he said, resting back in his chair. “Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with being useful to anyone else.”
I blinked. “What?”
He smiled. “No mom answers. No wife answers. No attorney answers. Just… Khloe.”
I stared at my glass of water, buying myself time. “That’s harder than it should be.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s something that needs to change.”
I laughed softly. “Okay… um. I like quiet mornings. Like, real quiet. Silence with just sunlight coming in through the windows.”
He smiled like he was remembering every word. “That’s a good one. Anything else?”
“I love creating things with my hands,” I continued. “Painting, decorating, rearranging spaces. I think I like seeing something transform because sometimes I wish I could do that with parts of myself.”
“That makes sense,” he said gently. “You strike me as someone who holds a lot inside. Someone who learned early how to make things beautiful even when sometimes they weren’t.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t know how he saw that so clearly after barely knowing me.
“Tell me about the little girl version of you,” he added. “What did she want to be before life started to life?”
“She wanted to travel. Everywhere. She wanted color, art, and music. She thought love would be loud and exciting and full of laughter.”
“And now?”
“Now…” I paused. “I still want those things. I just learned how to put them on hold until it's time.”
He took a deep breath, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he asked, “What makes you feel most like yourself?”
The answer came quicker that time. “When I don’t feel rushed. When someone actually wants to know the deep misunderstood parts of me.”
“I figured. For what it’s worth,” he added, “you have a really calming presence. You make me want to slow down.”
I laughed. “Nobody’s ever said that about me.”
“That’s because people don’t ask you enough questions,” he said simply.
We talked about music, books, how he hated small talk but loved deep conversations that wandered into unexpected places, and how he believed laughter was a form of intimacy.
He told me how he taught himself discipline because chaos raised him, and how fatherhood changed the way he moved through the world. How he liked to observe people before deciding who deserved access to him.
The way he spoke was so thoughtful and warm without being performative. It wasn’t flirting. It felt more like it was a connection. That realization both thrilled and terrified me.
It had been so long since someone looked at me like I was interesting just for existing.
When our food arrived, it almost felt intrusive.
He laughed at my expression. “We can ignore it for a minute.”
I nodded. “Please.”
We kept talking.
We took a minute and ate our food but never stopped talking in between bites and laughing.
“So, do you have any plans after this?”
I shook my head a little too quickly. “Nope. Nothing planned.”
