The car pulled up to a sleek, modern apartment building. It was a far cry from Emmanuel's old cottage.
As he ushered you inside, your eyes widened.
The entrance hall was wide, the floor pristine white. Artwork hung on the walls. A crystal chandelier glittered above.
"Surprised?" Emmanuel asked, his hand on the small of your back as he guided you further in.
You passed through the living room—large windows opening to a view of the city lights. The apartment was spacious, tastefully decorated. Emmanuel's touch was everywhere.
Eventually, you made it to the back room.
There, a table was set in the center—candles lit, soft music playing. It looked straight out of a romance movie.
"What is all this?" You asked, turning to Emmanuel.
The words caught you off guard.
*What the jerk never gave you.*
For a moment, you were silent, absorbing the weight of it. Emmanuel—blunt, no-nonsense Emmanuel—standing in front of you with his romantic dinner, had just called Marcus a jerk.
And the worst part...?
A small, secret part of you almost agreed.
Emmanuel gently pulled out a chair for you, gesturing for you to sit. The warm candlelight flickered over his face, making his eyes look darker.
"Ladies first," he teased, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
You sat down, heart thumping a little faster than normal.
He took the seat across from you, leaning back comfortably. The soft music filled the air as Emmanuel filled two glasses with red wine.You looked around the luxurious apartment, feeling a strange mix of awe and curiosity.
"Emmanuel," you began slowly, your voice soft. "Do you live here... alone?"
He paused mid-pour, the wine hovering over the glass.
"Yeah," he said simply. Then he met your eyes—steady and sincere. "No one else has been here like this before."
The room felt suddenly warmer.Emmanuel continued to surprise you. Not only did he cook the meal himself, he also hinted at more surprises.
"You didn't think this was it, did you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow teasingly.
You smiled, trying to hide the mix of anticipation and nerves bubbling inside. "What else have you got planned?" You replied.
He leaned in slightly, the candlelight dancing in his eyes.
"You'll see," he said—low, deliberate—like it was a promise and a challenge all at once.
A beat of silence. Then he winked.
"Patience, doc."You took the first bite—expecting something decent, maybe even impressive.
But it was *delicious*.
Rich, perfectly seasoned, comfort wrapped in flavor. You almost groaned in pleasure. "Emmanuel… this is amazing."
He grinned, smug but soft. "Told you I've changed since middle school."
You shot him a look. "You didn't even know how to boil water back then."
"Exactly," he said, raising his glass. "Proof I do things now worth waiting for."
And as you clinked glasses under the glow of candlelight—he held your gaze just a second too long.
Like he wasn't just talking about dinner anymore.
You couldn't help but feel a flush creeping up your neck. Maybe it was the wine, the candlelight. Or maybe just his direct, unabashed gaze.
Emmanuel noticed, of course. His smile widened just a fraction."Blushing, doc?" He teased. "Didn't know a good meal could do that."
You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. "Shut up."
But the heat in your cheeks only deepened.He said you were very beautiful in middle school even better now.You laughed, shaking your head. "Middle school? You barely spoke to me."
"Doesn't mean I didn't notice," he murmured. "You were always quiet, head stuck in books."
"And you were always trouble," you shot back, trying to keep the flutter in your heart in check. He *had* noticed you in middle school?
"Trouble finds its own kind, doc," Emmanuel retorted, his eyes twinkling.You set your fork down, satisfied and oddly relaxed. The meal was perfect—better than perfect.
Emmanuel leaned back, studying you with that quiet intensity again.
"Still got room for dessert?" he asked.
"Not sure," you teased. "What kind of surprise is it this time?"
He stood, offering his hand. "Only one way to find out."