CHAPTER 3 – THE FIRST DATE
Marcus spent most of the afternoon pacing around his apartment, phone in hand, wondering what time was appropriate to call. Would calling the same day seem too eager? Too desperate? But the truth was—he couldn't wait.
He called her just before 8 p.m.
Elena answered on the second ring, her voice warm and light. "That was fast," she teased.
"I figured if I waited too long, you might forget me."
"Not a chance," she said.
They talked for another hour. No rush, no awkward silences. By the end of the call, Marcus asked if she wanted to grab dinner that weekend. She agreed without hesitation.
On Saturday evening, Marcus arrived ten minutes early at a cozy Italian restaurant tucked into a quiet side street. Dim lighting, live jazz, and the smell of basil and wine filled the air. He wore a crisp button-down—navy, her favorite color, though she hadn't told him that yet.
At exactly 7:00, Elena walked in wearing a simple black dress, her hair loose over her shoulders. The room felt warmer when she smiled at him.
"You clean up well," she said as she sat.
"And you look…" He hesitated, then said honestly, "Perfect."
They shared bruschetta and a bottle of Chianti. The conversation flowed even better than it had at the café. They talked about childhood memories, the books that shaped them, and the people they used to be. He learned she once dreamed of becoming a dancer. She learned he once secretly wanted to be a writer.
He found her stories magnetic—how she moved from city to city, following exhibitions and inspiration. She found his steadiness comforting, how he could describe buildings like poems.
By dessert, their knees were brushing under the table.
"I haven't felt like this in a long time," Elena admitted quietly, her fingers playing with her spoon.
"Me neither," Marcus said.
They left the restaurant with full hearts and quiet smiles. He offered to walk her home.
As they stood outside her apartment building under a streetlamp, the world felt unusually still.
"Can I see you again?" he asked.
She nodded. "You'd better."
Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him—soft, certain, and slow. A kiss that didn't feel like the end of the night.
It felt like the beginning of something real.
Something rare.
Something worth trusting.