When Eric insisted on paying for our first date, I thought I’d met a true gentleman. Roses, a sweet gift, charming conversation — he was checking all the boxes. When he texted me the next day, I expected a cute follow-up, but my stomach dropped when I read his message.
My best friend, Mia, meant well when she offered to set me up on a date, but her skills as a matchmaker were completely untested.
“He’s super nice, Kelly!
Total gentleman. You’ll love him,” Mia insisted over the phone while I rummaged through my closet.
“You’ve never set me up before,” I reminded her. “What makes you think you know my type?”
“Because I know you better than anyone,” she replied confidently.
“Plus, Chris vouches for him too. They’ve been friends for ages.”
That gave me pause. Chris, Mia’s boyfriend, was a pretty good judge of character.
If he thought this Eric guy was decent, maybe there was hope.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Show me a picture at least.”
A moment later, my phone pinged with an incoming message.
The guy in the photo wasn’t bad looking: clean-cut, well-dressed, with a warm smile that reached his eyes.
“Okay, he’s cute,” I admitted.
“Told you!” Mia squealed. “Text him and set it up.
You won’t regret it, I promise.”
After a few casual texts, I agreed to meet Eric for dinner at a new Italian place with a great view of the river. Nothing too fancy, but nice enough for a first date.
I arrived five minutes early and waited near the entrance, like we’d agreed. I was nervously checking my appearance with my phone camera when I spotted him approaching the restaurant.
My pulse quickened a little.
The photo hadn’t lied — he was attractive in that clean-cut, business-casual way, and he carried himself with confidence.
What I hadn’t expected was the bouquet of roses in his hand.
Not cheap grocery store flowers, but an actual professional arrangement tied with a ribbon.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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