He was late. Not fashionably late, but actually late. Very, very late. I paced at the front stoop of my apartment building, pretending not to check my phone every thirty seconds, rehearsing excuses for him in my head while simultaneously convincing myself I’d been right to say no all those other times. When he finally showed up, breathless and apologetic, he explained there had been a horrible accident on the highway, and that he couldn’t call because hisphone had died.
It was far too late to have any chance of getting into the Bluebird Café at this hour, completely derailing his plan for the evening. We walked along my block, but all the tables were taken. One restaurant after another, hostesses shook their heads before we even finished our sentences. An hour wait. Ninety minutes. Two hours. No chance we were getting in. My feet ached from walking, and his shoulders slumped with every step at realizing this night was a total bust. How in the world could a city that brought us together suddenly have no room for us anywhere?
In an attempt to try to salvage this date from hell, he found a food truck. Tacos. I didn’t think it was possible, but not good ones, served in little paper boats. There were no seats, so we sat on the curb, knees almost touching, passing napkins back and forth and trying not to drip salsa on our shoes. Cars passed. Music floated out of nearby bars. The city kept moving while we stayed right there, grounded on the concrete.
And somehow, that’s when everything clicked.
We talked. About real things… small towns and big dreams… fear disguised as confidence… music and why it sometimes hurts in the best way… He told me stories that didn’t feel rehearsed. I told him things about my past I usually keep tucked away. There was no pretending. No trying to impress. Just two people being real with one another.
Hours passed without either of us noticing. Midnight slipped into something later, softer. At some point, the crowds were gone, and the marquis lights were dimming. We stayed on that curb until nearly 3 a.m., talking like time had decided to be generous with us. I’ve never felt so seen without feeling exposed. Never laughed so easily with someone I barely knew. Never felt so calm in the middle of such a mess.
Eventually, he walked me home, wearing his far-too-big sneakers while he carried my heels. The city was hushed in that rare way it gets before morning, and my apartment stairs squeaked, announcing every move. At my door, he stopped. Looked at me the way he always does, like he’s fully present. Andthen he asked. Actually asked. If it was okay to kiss me goodnight.
It was. God, it was.
The kiss was warm and gentle. It felt exactly right, like a period at the end of a sentence we didn’t know we’d been writing all night. When he left, I stood there longer than necessary, hand on the door, and my heart fluttering.
That date should’ve been a disaster. By every logical measure, it was. But somehow, it was perfect. Not because everything went right—but because NOTHING did, and it didn’t matter. I’ve never connected with anyone like that before, and it’s scary as hell.
May 2nd
Dear Temptation,
Second date with Easton.
This one was a lot smoother than the first. By a lot! No missed reservations or chaotic detours. It didn’t feel like the universe wasconspiring to ruin our night. From the moment we met, it felt… easy. Comfortable, but still electric. We laughed and moved in sync, finishing each other’s sentences without even trying. The rhythm between us settled into something that just felt natural. It was like the first date had been a rough rehearsal, and tonight, we finally hit all the right notes (pun absolutely intended).
The chemistry between us hasn’t changed—it’s as strong as it was the first time, maybe even stronger. Every glance and fleeting touch seemed to hum with the same energy that made me lose my breath the first time I saw him perform. There’s a pull I can’t fight, like moments in both our lives put us on a path to each other. This is crazy talk about a man I barely know, and that’s not lost on me. But I feel seen in a way I’ve never been before, like he notices all the little things about me that I usually hide. And strangely enough, those are the parts he wants more of.
By the time we walked to my door, it was almost morning again. I didn’t want it toend, but I knew I had to. At least for now. And standing there, heart pounding, I had to summon every ounce of self-control I possessed to keep that kiss goodnight at the door. Every part of me wanted to invite him in. I wanted to let the world disappear around us, but I held back. I want this—us—to be something real. Something steady. Something worth the wait.
But, oh my God, it’s going to be impossible to resist him. The way he smiles and how every nerve in my body springs to life when his lips touch mine, I know I’m fighting a losing battle. I can’t stop thinking about him, replaying our night, imagining what it would feel like to give in, just a little, just to see what happens. He’s magnetic, infuriatingly irresistible, and somehow both safe and scary at the same time.
May 8th
Dear Inevitable,
I’m such a cliché. Easton spent the night.But I get credit for holding out until the third date, right?
Being with him was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t awkward or uncertain. It wasn’t rushed. It was… everything. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve known that a man who paid this much attention to me outside the bedroom would be no different in it… Not that we made it to the bedroom.
He was commanding, in a way that left no room for hesitation… no room for doubt. Yet somehow, at the same time, he was soft… so impossibly tender that it made me feel safe even while my heart was beating like crazy. I didn’t just feel connected to him physically. I felt like he was seeing me in a way nobody ever had, noticing every small reaction. Every sigh. Every movement. Like it mattered to him in ways I don’t even know how to describe.
It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I didn’t just like it… Or even just love it. I felt it deep in my chest. In the depths of my core. It was as if the night had been written for this single moment. I’d never been this vulnerable with anyone, and somehow that vulnerability didn’t scare me… it exhilarated me.
When it was over, we lay tangled together on the cool hardwood floor. I could feel every heartbeat (his and mine) as he peppered kisses across my forehead. With his arms wrapped around me, I suddenly felt full in places I didn’t even realize were empty.
Easton makes me… whole.
I park at the edge of the lot and cut the engine before I can talk myself out of getting out. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel, curling tightly until my knuckles blanch. The cemetery stretches out in front of me, neat rows of stone too orderly to be the finality of the moment that completely obliterated my life. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The wind slips through the bare branches, muffling the constant hum of the city far beyond the iron gates.
Today is Rosie’s birthday, and I can’t bring myself to pretend it’s just another day. No matter what, we werealwaystogether on her birthday.Even that year, I finished a show and drove three states through an early snow overnight because all flights were grounded.I can’t let today pass. Not this year. Not ever.
From the backseat, I pull out my guitar. The wood is worn smooth where my hands have held it a thousand times.Where her hands brushed against it.Rosie used to swear this one sounded warmer, like it had its own soul. But I think she loved this one, because this secondhand guitarfrom a pawn shop was the one I played the night we first met.
The cold air slaps me across the face the moment I step out of the car. It’s sharp and biting, sinking straight to the bone. My breath ghosts white in the air as I cross the cemetery. Each step toward Rosie’s grave is heavier than the last, my boots crunching against the frost-covered earth.
Her headstone is simple and clean.
