Chapter 47 – The Nerves of a First Date
Wilkens arrived exactly five minutes after the phone call — literally five minutes. One second Peterson was pacing in his room like a stressed chicken, the next a ripple of shadows swirled open behind him.
A hand popped out first.
Then Wilkens stepped through like he just exited an elevator.
"BROOOO!" Wilkens laughed, brushing imaginary dust from his hoodie. "You sound like you're about to faint on the phone."
Peterson rubbed his neck. "It's because I was. Bro, Naëlle asked me on a date. A DATE. And I'm broke. Like… broke-broke. Like cereal-with-water broke."
Wilkens burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. "Cereal with water is wild, bro. But don't worry. I got you."
"…You sure? Like, for real?"
Wilkens threw an arm over his shoulder. "Pete… my brother… My guy… If one of us wins, we ALL win. We leveling up together — romance included."
Peterson laughed nervously, his stomach twisting. "Thanks, man."
"Alright." Wilkens slapped his hands together. "Step one — find clothes that don't make you look like you exploring the forest 24/7."
"HEY."
"It's true bro, look at you."
Peterson looked down at his shirt. It definitely looked like it had been washed a suspicious number of times.
Wilkens jumped into action. "Let's raid your closet before your sisters walk in and roast you."
They dug through piles of clothes — shirts, old uniforms, things that were technically fabric but shouldn't legally be worn outside.
Then Wilkens found it.
A clean black button-down, still folded like it was never worn.
"Bro… YOU HAD THIS THE WHOLE TIME!?"
Peterson blinked. "I forgot about it."
Wilkens held his chest dramatically. "Lord… give me patience…"
Then came the pants. Shoes. A belt that miraculously fit.
After twenty minutes, Peterson stood in front of the mirror, dressed sharp, hair styled with a little water, smelling like Wilkens' cologne.
Wilkens whistled. "Okay! Now THAT'S a Main Character aura."
Peterson blushed. "Stop hyping me up, man…"
"No, for real — Naëlle gonna faint."
Peterson ignored the flutter in his chest and checked his phone again. Only two hours left before the date. His heart thudded so loud he felt like the neighbors could hear it.
"You ready?" Wilkens asked.
"No."
"Perfect. That's how you know it's real."
---
Naëlle Prepares
Meanwhile, across town, Naëlle was having her own crisis.
Her room was a warzone — outfits scattered everywhere, shoes on the floor, lip gloss tubes open like injured soldiers. Her cousin sat on the bed eating plantain chips, watching her lose her mind.
"You've changed like seven times," her cousin said, unimpressed. "Pick one."
"I can't!" Naëlle groaned, shoving her hands into her curls. "What if I look weird? What if I sound weird? What if he thinks I'm—"
"Girl," her cousin interrupted, "Peterson Joseph literally freezes when you walk by. You're fine."
Naëlle paused.
"…Don't say that like I don't know. That's the problem."
They both screamed into a pillow.
Eventually she chose a soft cream dress that reached her knees, simple sandals, and subtle makeup. She looked in the mirror and whispered to herself:
"Okay… breathe… It's just Peterson… It's just… Peterson."
Her stomach flipped again.
"I'm gonna throw up," she whispered.
---
Lakay Restaurant – 3:00 PM
Lakay Restaurant wasn't fancy — but it was warm, colorful, and smelled like fried fish, epis, and love. The wooden tables had carvings of hibiscus flowers. The music was slow kompa. The fans hummed overhead.
Peterson arrived at 2:55 PM — early because he was terrified of being late.
He sat near a window, tapping his finger on the table.
"She's gonna think I'm stupid."
"She's gonna think I'm weird."
"I should have stayed home."
Then he saw her approach the restaurant through the window.
And everything in his brain shut off.
Naëlle looked… beautiful. Not forced. Not dramatic. Just naturally beautiful, like someone who smiled at the world and the world smiled back.
She spotted him and waved shyly.
Peterson stood up so fast he hit his knee on the table.
"OW—! …hey…"
Smooth. Very smooth.
She giggled. "Hi, Peterson."
He sat down. She sat down.
Silence.
Both of them stared at the menus like they were studying for the hardest exam of their lives.
Eventually, Naëlle spoke first.
"Um… sorry if I bothered you yesterday. I just… wanted to talk to you, you know?"
"No! No, no — it's fine! I mean — not fine. But fine. Good fine. I mean—" he took a breath, "—I'm happy you texted."
She smiled softly. "Okay… good."
The waiter came, saving them from more socially questionable sentences. They ordered griot and rice, juice, and plantains.
When the waiter left, Naëlle fiddled with her fingers.
"You were acting really strange at school the other day."
Peterson nearly choked on his own spit. "I—uh—yeah… I was… tired. You know. Long week."
"Tired?" she raised an eyebrow. "You looked like you were possessed."
Peterson's soul left his body for a moment.
"…What… do you mean by possessed?"
"Well…" she leaned closer, eyes narrowing playfully. "You usually joke around, and you smile… but that day you were acting like a clone. Like you were pretending to be you. It was weird."
Peterson sweated internally.
Naëlle laughed. "Sorry! I'm not trying to tease you. I just wanted to know if something was wrong."
Peterson's heart softened. "No, really… I'm good. It was just a weird day."
She nodded. "Okay. I'm glad."
Their food arrived, and the tension melted as they ate. They laughed more naturally. They talked about school, teachers they couldn't stand, dreams they had for the future. Peterson told her some toned-down stories about Jean-Daniel and Wilkens' training moments, leaving out anything magical.
She laughed so hard she held her stomach.
"I didn't know you were this funny!" she said.
Peterson scratched his cheek. "I'm only funny when I'm not terrified."
She giggled, sipping her juice. "Well… you're doing great."
His chest warmed.
Hour passed, and when they walked out of the restaurant, the sun was setting behind them, coloring the sky orange and purple.
They strolled slowly down the street, neither really wanting the moment to end.
Naëlle looked at him from the side. Quiet. Thinking.
"…Peterson?" she said softly.
He swallowed. "Yeah?"
She stopped walking.
He stopped too.
She turned fully toward him, her eyes nervous but determined, fingers playing with the hem of her dress.
"Peterson…" she whispered, voice trembling just a little.
"I have something to tell you."