Two days passed before Elise heard from Adrian again.
She told herself not to care. Not to check her phone every half hour like a teenager. Not to reread their text thread as if his last message held some secret clue.
But she cared. She checked. And she reread.
Because Adrian hadn't just been a good date. He'd made her feel seen, like someone she wanted to be. Someone interesting. Desirable. Whole.
When his name finally lit up her screen, her breath hitched.
Adrian:I've been thinking about you. Can I steal you for lunch today?
She didn't wait more than a minute to reply.
Elise:You don't need to steal me. Just ask nicely.
His answer came fast:
Adrian:Please. Let me ruin you with truffle fries and charm.
They met at a sleek, minimalist café with polished concrete floors and towering windows. Elise arrived first, dressed in a simple black dress and denim jacket, casual but clean. She'd pretended not to try. She'd definitely tried.
Adrian showed up exactly at noon, wearing dark jeans, a soft gray sweater, and that same calm confidence that made him feel like gravity.
"You look beautiful," he said as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.
Elise's skin prickled. She smiled. "Flattery before fries. Bold move."
They sat by the window, and within minutes, food was in front of them—crispy golden fries smothered in parmesan and drizzled with truffle oil, a shared plate of sliders, and two glasses of something cold and crisp.
"So," Adrian said, after a few minutes of easy banter, "I should warn you... I'm not good at small talk today."
Elise paused mid-bite. "Everything okay?"
He leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting to the window. "Yeah. Just… I had a dream about someone last night. Someone I haven't thought about in a long time."
She watched him carefully. "Ex?"
He nodded once. "Her name was Clara."
Something in his voice made her pulse slow. It wasn't bitterness. It wasn't nostalgia. It was something in between—like pulling a thorn out slowly and watching it bleed.
"She was... intense," he said. "Beautiful. Smart. Kind of the center of every room. I fell hard."
Elise said nothing. She just listened.
"We were together for almost two years. She was a writer too, actually. But more poetry, less murder stories." He chuckled, but the sound didn't reach his eyes.
"What happened?" Elise asked gently.
Adrian hesitated, then exhaled. "She had a way of making everything feel like it was my fault. If I didn't answer a text fast enough, I was hiding something. If I wanted a night alone, I was 'detaching.' She read between the lines even when there was nothing written there."
Elise's stomach twisted. "That sounds exhausting."
"It was," he said. "But when it was good? It was amazing. That's the problem with people like that. They're addictive. You never know which version you'll get."
She nodded slowly. She'd met men like that. She dated men like that.
"I stayed longer than I should have," Adrian continued. "Tried to make it work. Tried to fix things. But it got ugly toward the end. She accused me of things I never did. Told people I was abusive. That I manipulated her. None of it was true."
Elise blinked. "She told people that?"
He nodded. "I lost friends. Business relationships. Even my sister stopped talking to me for a while."
"Jesus."
Adrian looked down at his glass. "Eventually I just… cut everything off. I moved, changed my number, deleted social media. She still sent emails sometimes. Just… cruel, messy stuff."
Elise swallowed the knot in her throat. "That's awful."
He looked up. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad. I just... I don't want there to be any surprises. I've been burned before. Badly. So I'm cautious. Maybe even guarded. But I don't want to lie. Not to you."
His eyes were soft. Open. Wounded.
Something inside Elise shifted.
For a second, she could see him—not just the polished charm, but the cracks underneath. The boyish pain. The need to be understood, believed.
"I appreciate you telling me," she said, gently. "And I get it. You want to be careful."
He nodded once, grateful.
"You ever been with someone like that?" he asked.
Elise smirked. "You mean someone who made me question my own sanity on a weekly basis? A few times, actually."
He laughed softly. "Why do we fall for those people?"
"Because they shine just bright enough to blind us."
Adrian looked at her for a long moment. "You're not what I expected."
"Is that a good thing?"
"It's a dangerous thing," he said with a crooked smile.
They finished their lunch and walked together toward the park nearby, the air light and breezy. They sat on a bench, side by side, not quite touching, but close enough that Elise could feel the heat of him.
"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," Adrian said, eyes forward.
"Maybe because you want to," she said. "Or maybe because it's easier to tell a stranger than a friend."
"You're not a stranger."
She turned toward him.
"You're not," he repeated. "I feel like I've known you for longer than a week. Is that weird?"
"Only if you're lying," she said with a half-smile.
"I'm not."
He turned to face her now, his knee brushing hers.
"Elise," he said, his voice lower. "I don't do this. I don't... open up. But with you, it's like I want to. And that scares the hell out of me."
"Why?"
"Because last time I felt this way," he said, "it ended in disaster."
Elise's breath caught.
He was so close.
So earnest.
And something in his gaze made her forget every ghost, every letdown, every rule she'd built to keep herself safe.
"Maybe this time it doesn't," she whispered.
They sat in silence. The kind that wraps around two people like a blanket.
Adrian reached for her hand. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and steady.
And for the first time in a very long time, Elise didn't feel like she had to brace for disappointment.
She just felt seen.
That night, lying in bed, she scrolled through her notes again—the list of past flings, the men who made her feel small, confused, forgettable.
Adrian didn't belong on that list.
Not yet.
She wasn't sure if she wanted him to.
But she saved a new entry anyway, just in case.
#7: Adrian – TBD. Maybe real. Maybe not.
She closed her eyes.
The last thing she remembered before drifting off was the sound of his voice.
"I don't do this. But with you, I want to."
And God help her—she wanted him to mean it.