By Friday night, Crystal Gomez was curled up on her couch, the soft glow of the television flickering across the walls. Reruns played in the background, ignored. Her laptop was open beside her, inbox full of unread work emails. But she couldn't focus.
Her thoughts kept circling back to him Justin Miller.
The way he listened like nothing else in the room mattered.
The way he made her laugh like she hadn't in months.
She was still lost in that memory when her phone vibrated.
Justin Miller:
Hey stranger. I survived the server meltdown. Barely.
Still up for dinner this weekend?
A grin tugged at her lips.
Crystal Gomez:
Surviving is a good sign. Saturday night?
Justin Miller:
Perfect. Pick you up at 7?
Crystal Gomez:
Texting you my address now. Please don't be a closet serial killer.
Justin Miller:
No promises. But I'll wear cologne and act normal.
Oh and no ball gowns this time. Casual, please.
She laughed. It had been a long time since anyone made her feel like this;light, giddy, seen.
Saturday night arrived with a flutter in her chest. Crystal stood in front of her mirror, smoothing her beige blouse, paired with high-waisted jeans and ankle boots. Her curls fell effortlessly around her shoulders. She didn't overdo the makeup just a touch of gloss. Nothing extravagant. Just… herself.
At exactly 6:59 PM, her doorbell rang.
She opened it to find Justin holding a small bouquet of wildflowers, his smile crooked and boyishly charming.
"For you," he said, extending the bouquet.
"Thank you." She stepped aside to let him in, heart thudding as she reached for a vase.
Justin scanned the apartment, nodding in approval. "Cozy. Sophisticated. I like it."
"I try," she said. "So... where are we going?"
He grinned. "Somewhere real."
She expected a fancy rooftop restaurant. What she got instead was even better.
A hidden courtyard, bathed in warm string lights. A local food truck with the smell of garlic and herbs hanging in the air. A handwritten sign: Luca's Italian Street Eats. A small live band strumming gentle acoustic melodies in the corner.
"You brought me to a food truck?" Crystal asked, pleasantly surprised.
"I said casual," he replied, eyes twinkling. "And trust me this ravioli rivals Rome."
They shared plates of bruschetta and handmade pasta, sipping red wine from mismatched glasses. Laughter came easy. So did the conversation. They talked about everything childhood dreams, career battles, bad bosses, and embarrassing moments.
It felt like she'd known him for years.
When the band played a soft tune, couples stood to dance beneath the lights. Justin turned to her.
"Dance with me."
"In a parking lot?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Why not?" He stood, extending his hand. "First time we met, we danced. Seems like tradition now."
She sighed dramatically but took his hand. "Fine. But you're catching me if I trip."
They swayed slowly, her arms around his neck, his hands resting gently on her waist. She leaned into his warmth, his heartbeat calm and steady.
"I'm glad you came tonight," he whispered.
"So am I."
His gaze dropped to her lips. Hesitation. Then movement.
She didn't pull back.
Their kiss was soft, unhurried like they both wanted to remember every second. The moment stretched, delicate and full of promise.
When they pulled apart, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"That's definitely going on my top five first dates list," she said.
He chuckled, brushing a curl from her face. "Top five? I'll take it. Just wait till date number two."
By the time they reached her apartment, the city had quieted. The night air was cool, but neither of them wanted the evening to end.
"Thanks for tonight," she said, fingers lingering on the seatbelt.
"Thanks for trusting me," he replied. "Even after the food truck reveal."
She laughed, but there was something heavier in the silence that followed.
"I don't usually feel like this," she admitted, her voice low. "This... connection. It's rare."
Justin leaned against the steering wheel, eyes on her. "Same. It's a little terrifying, honestly. But in a good way."
Crystal hesitated. "My last relationship ended when things got serious. He said I was... too much. Too driven. Too intense."
He frowned. "Sounds like someone who couldn't handle your fire. Doesn't mean you should dim it."
His words settled deep in her chest.
"I meant to ask," he said, smiling slightly, "you up for a walk?"
"Now?"
"It's only midnight."
"You're lucky I wore boots."
Minutes later, they strolled down a quiet tree lined street. Their fingers brushed, then finally linked.
"So, what did little Justin want to be when he grew up?" she teased.
"A pilot. Then a magician. Then a tech genius."
She laughed. "A magician?"
"Yep. Had a wand. And a rabbit named Steve. He bit me."
"Poor Steve," she said through giggles.
"And you?"
"I wanted to be a writer. But life had other plans. PR is the practical version of my dream."
He looked at her seriously. "I hope you still write."
"Sometimes," she murmured. "But no one reads it."
"I'd like to."
She looked away, her heart flipping unexpectedly.
They stopped outside her building. The silence lingered.
"I should go in," she said.
"I should let you," he said.
But neither moved.
She looked at him. "Do you want to come up? Just... to talk."
He searched her eyes. "Only if that's what you want."
"I do."
Inside, they curled up on the couch, shoes off, sipping hot chocolate. He picked a book off her shelf, noticing sticky notes peeking from the pages.
"You really were meant to write," he said softly.
She smiled, shy but touched. "Maybe."
They talked until the night blurred into morning about fears, dreams, regrets. Somewhere between sentences, she leaned against him, his arm pulling her closer.
When her breathing slowed and she drifted off against his chest, he stayed still, watching her sleep.
Something in his heart shifted.
He didn't say it aloud not yet but he knew.
She wasn't just another spark.
She was the one who could burn through every wall.
The one who already felt like home.