Elise didn't hear from Adrian the next morning. Or the next afternoon. She told herself that was fine. Normal. Healthy.
She didn't obsessively check her phone. Or refresh her inbox. Or scroll through his Instagram for signs of life.
Except she did. Every hour.
By 6 p.m., she gave up pretending she wasn't disappointed. She tossed her phone onto the couch, pulled her laptop toward her, and tried to finish a freelance article she was already late on: "10 Signs You're Dating a Narcissist."
The irony made her laugh bitterly. She'd researched this stuff inside out. She could spot a manipulator by the third date. But that didn't stop her from falling for the charming ones anyway—the ones who knew just how to smile without showing their teeth.
Her phone buzzed.
Adrian:Are you free tonight?
Just like that, her breath caught.
Not "Hey." Not "How are you?"
Straight to the point.
Elise:Depends. Is this a kidnapping setup or an actual date?
A few seconds later, he replied:
Adrian:That depends. Do you look good in duct tape or red wine?
She smirked.
Elise:Wine. Definitely wine.
By 8:00 p.m., she was standing outside a small bistro she'd never heard of, tucked in a cobblestone alley where most GPS signals went to die.
Adrian was already there, leaning against the stone wall, collar up, hands in his coat pockets. No phone. No fidgeting. Just... waiting.
When he saw her, his face lit up in that slow, movie-like way. No rush. No hunger. Just recognition, like he'd known she was coming all along.
"I was starting to worry you'd ghost me," he said.
"I was going to," Elise replied. "But I didn't want to miss the wine."
"Smart," he said, holding open the door for her. "The wine's good. The company—debatable."
The restaurant was dimly lit and warm, filled with flickering candles and quiet jazz. No menus on the table. No QR codes. Just a man in suspenders who nodded when Adrian whispered something in his ear.
"Elise," Adrian said as they sat, "do you trust me?"
"Absolutely not."
"Good. Then this'll be fun."
Moments later, the waiter returned with two glasses of crimson wine and a plate of what Elise could only describe as edible art—tiny crostinis topped with some kind of jam, cheese, and magic.
"This is either charming or wildly pretentious," she said after taking a bite.
"You can be both," Adrian said, sipping his wine. "Some of the best people are."
She raised her glass. "To pretentious charm."
"To you," he replied, clinking his glass to hers.
They talked.
Not the usual, boring, first-date interrogation about where you grew up or what your five-year plan was. This was different. Easy. Disarming.
"I used to think I wanted to be a lawyer," Elise admitted, somewhere between course two and three. "Then I realized I hate arguing unless I know I'm right."
"You'd make a great criminal prosecutor," Adrian said, grinning. "All fire, no compromise."
She tilted her head. "What about you? Always wanted to be a... what is it you do again?"
"Marketing. Branding. Digital storytelling," he said.
"So… lying. Professionally."
He laughed, loudly and unapologetically. "Exactly. But we call it narrative crafting. Makes it sound sexier."
Elise smiled. "You're very good at that. The narrative stuff."
"Am I?"
"You make it easy to forget this is a first date."
There was a beat of silence, just long enough for the truth to sink in.
"It doesn't feel like one," he said.
No rush. No flattery. Just something close to honesty.
By dessert, Elise's cheeks hurt from laughing. Adrian had told her about a failed pitch he once made to a toothpaste brand—something involving holograms and glow-in-the-dark smiles. She was pretty sure he made up half the story, but it didn't matter. He was captivating. Like a flame you didn't realize you were leaning toward until your fingers started to burn.
Then came the check, which he paid without hesitation or awkward splitting jokes.
"I'll walk you home," he said as they stepped into the cool night air.
Elise looked up. The rain was gone, but the streets still shimmered from it. The sky was bruised and deep, stars hiding behind a curtain of clouds.
"You really don't have to," she said.
"I want to," Adrian replied.
The walk was quiet. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in that rare, soft stillness when words aren't needed. They passed closed bookstores, darkened bars, neon lights flickering in cracked windows.
She felt his hand brush hers once. Just once.
She didn't pull away.
Outside her apartment, Elise fumbled for her keys.
Adrian stayed a few steps behind. He didn't move closer. Didn't push. Just waited.
"Well," she said, turning to face him.
"Well," he echoed, eyes not leaving hers.
"This was… unexpectedly nice."
"I told you. Good wine. Good company."
She laughed. "Still debatable."
"I like a challenge."
He took a small step forward, but didn't touch her.
"Elise," he said, softer now. "Can I see you again?"
She blinked. "You mean... like an actual second date?"
"No," he said. "Like... again. In whatever way you want. Whenever you want."
Her chest tightened. There was something dangerous about the way he said it. Not a threat. Just... depth. Like he wasn't talking about dinner or drinks.
He was talking about more.
About everything.
"You move fast," she said.
He nodded. "Only when I know."
"Know what?"
"That I want more."
She swallowed hard. Her keys were still in her hand, cold and digging into her palm.
"I'll think about it," she said.
Adrian nodded. He didn't lean in for a kiss. He didn't say goodnight. He just smiled, turned, and walked away—without looking back.
Elise stood there, heart in her throat, until he disappeared around the corner.
Inside her apartment, she kicked off her shoes, sank into the couch, and stared at the message he'd sent earlier.
Still raining. Still worth it.
She hadn't replied.
Now she did.
Elise:So was tonight.
Her phone vibrated instantly.
Adrian:I'm glad you think so. Because I'm already planning the next one.
Elise smiled.
For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was waiting for something.
She felt like she was walking into something.
What she didn't know—what she couldn't have possibly guessed—was that she'd already crossed a line.
And there was no walking back.