“You look amazing,” he says immediately. There’s no hesitation or exaggeration in his tone. He’s saying it like it’s simply a fact he has decided to state out loud.
The sincerity in his voice makes warmth spread across my cheeks before I can stop it.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Then I narrow my eyes at him.
“You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“I always do.”
“That confidence is dangerous.”
“Sometimes.”
I laugh softly. He opens the car door for me without making a big deal out of it. It earns him another silent point on the imaginary gentleman scoreboard I absolutely did not use after our first date.
“Play me your favorite songs,” I tell Blake as he turns on the engine.
“You sure you can handle it?” he jokes, and I nod.
“Bring it,” I say softly, and the music starts playing. It starts with Elton John, followed by Hollywood Undead and Andy Black.
“We’re here,” Blake suddenly says as I am bopping my head toWe Don’t Have to Dance.
“You definitely listen to a wide mix of things,” I laugh as we get out of the car.
“It all depends on the mood,” Blake shrugs.
The venue turns out to be smaller than I expected. It’s tucked between two brick buildings with soft yellow light spilling out through tall windows. The lights make the whole place feel warm before we even step inside. The second we enter, I realize he chose this place very deliberately because it isn’t crowded, overwhelming, or loud in the way larger bars tend to be.
Instead, there’s a small stage in the corner, a guitarist adjusting his microphone, and people talking quietly at tables. They’re close enough together to feel cozy instead of cramped.
“You checked this place out beforehand,” I accuse as we walk toward our table.
“Maybe.”
“You did.”
“I like being prepared.”
“You like being impressive.”
“That too,” he admits easily.
He leads me to a small table near the stage that somehow manages to feel both close and private at the same time. I immediately realize that he didn’t just pick the venue carefully; he picked the seats carefully, too.
It’s perfect.
And he knew it would be.
“You look nervous,” he says after we sit down.
“I’m not.”
“You adjusted your sleeve four times in the last minute.”
The way he says it is so calm and matter-of-fact that it almost knocks the air out of me.
