Saturday morning dawned soft and golden, the sun spilling across Clara's bedroom floor in warm streaks as the light filtered through gauzy curtains. But Clara was anything but calm. Her closet had exploded.
Shoes were scattered across the rug, hangers clinked against each other in chaos, and half-folded tops were strewn over her bed like casualties of war. Clara stood in front of the mirror, biting her lip as she held up a floral dress, then quickly shook her head and tossed it aside. "Too flirty," she muttered. Then a denim jacket and midi skirt. "Too casual?" She sighed, running both hands through her hair, her heartbeat fluttering with anticipation and nerves.
This was their first official date.
Even though they had shared long conversations, exchanged texts that kept her up smiling at night, and stolen glances across campus, this felt different. This was real.
She finally settled on a white off-shoulder blouse with lace-trimmed sleeves and a soft sage green skirt that fell just below her knees. She paired it with cream ankle boots and a small gold necklace. It was simple, but something that made her feel like herself. When she checked her phone and saw Liam: On my way :), her heart jumped.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Clara peeked out the window and saw him leaning against his car, looking infuriatingly handsome in a navy button-down rolled at the sleeves and beige chinos. He wasn't doing anything, just waiting but he looked like he belonged in a magazine shoot. Clara took a deep breath, grabbed her bag, and headed downstairs.
When she opened the door, Liam's smile was instant, his eyes trailing over her outfit with unmistakable approval. "Wow," he said, stepping back. "You look… incredible."
Clara flushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."
He grinned and opened the passenger door for her. "Shall we, my lady?"
The weekend market downtown was nestled in a long stretch of tree-lined avenue, tents bursting with color and the scent of cinnamon pastries, fresh flowers, and roasted coffee beans filling the air. Live music played from a small stage at the far end, and the energy was light, vibrant, and alive.
Clara walked beside Liam, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they weaved through the crowd. At one point, she paused at a booth filled with hand-painted pottery. She reached for a tiny ceramic fox figurine, smiling down at it.
"You like foxes?" Liam asked, watching her.
She nodded. "They were my dad's favorite animal. Said they were clever and underestimated. He used to call me his little fox."
Liam didn't say anything right away. Instead, he gently took the figurine from her hand, handed it to the vendor, and paid before she could protest. Then he placed it in her palm. "Then this one's yours. From one clever fox to another."
Clara blinked back a sting of tears and smiled. "You're not playing fair."
"I'm not trying to," he said, eyes warm.
Later, they sat on a low bench tucked between two food stalls, sharing a paper tray of freshly fried churros coated in cinnamon sugar. The scent alone was enough to make Clara smile, but it was the way Liam held the tray with one hand and offered it to her with exaggerated care that made her laugh.
"Take the last one," he said, nudging the final piece toward her.
"You have it," she replied, shaking her head. "You paid."
"That's exactly why you should take it," he said with mock seriousness. "Guests first."
When she still refused, Liam narrowed his eyes playfully. "Fine," he said, and before she could react, he leaned in and bit into the last churro just as she reached for it too. Their foreheads bumped with a soft thud, and for a second, they froze, their noses almost touching.
Then they both burst out laughing, their giggles echoing between the market stalls. Clara covered her mouth, cheeks flushed, while Liam grinned around his half of the churro. "Well," he said, chewing with a smirk, "I guess that counts as sharing."
Clara wiped sugar from the corner of her mouth and looked at him "You're ridiculous," she murmured, but her smile said something else entirely. The warmth of the moment stayed with her, sweeter than the sugar still clinging to her lips.
They stopped at a small booth tucked between food carts, where rows of handmade pressed flower bookmarks hung like tiny windows into spring. Clara knelt to get a closer look, her fingers gently brushing over one with tiny white daisies arranged in a neat line.
"They're so delicate," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Liam crouched beside her, his shoulder almost brushing hers. He looked at the same bookmark and tilted his head thoughtfully. "Kind of like you," he said softly.
Clara glanced at him, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
He smiled, but it wasn't teasing. It was honest. "You look gentle on the outside, but you're stronger than anyone gives you credit for. Like these little flowers. They're fragile, but someone took the time to preserve them, now they last forever."
Clara blinked, momentarily speechless, warmth blooming in her chest. She picked up a bookmark with soft pink petals and ran her thumb along the edge. "I never thought of it that way," she said quietly.
"You don't see yourself the way others do," Liam replied. Then he added with a smirk, "But I do."
"You sound like you know me well," Clara said softly, her eyes searching his face.
Liam's smile softened. "I'd like to think I do. Or at least, I'm trying to."
"Can I…" he began, voice low, almost hesitant. "Can I hold your hand?"
Clara blinked, caught off guard not by the question itself, but by how sincerely he asked it. Slowly, she nodded, lips parting in a breathless smile. "Yeah," she said softly. "You can."
Liam reached for her, and when their fingers touched, tentative at first and it felt like everything slowed down. His hand was warm, his touch careful, as if he knew the weight it carried. He didn't rush, didn't simply grab her hand. Instead, he threaded his fingers through hers with a kind of reverence, like it was the most important thing he'd done all day.
Clara looked down at their joined hands and then backed up at him. The way his thumb brushed gently along the back of hers made her heart flutter like a leaf caught in a breeze. It was such a small gesture, but it grounded her more than anything else had in months.
She squeezed his hand lightly. He smiled. And for the first time in what felt like a long, long while, Clara wasn't thinking about her past or her pain, or what might go wrong.
She was just here. With Liam.
And his hand in hers felt like the start of something she hadn't believed in for a long time: something real. Something safe. Something hers.
They kept walking, fingers laced, stopping at little booths and chatting like old friends, even though something new was blooming between them. Something that felt like hope, and warmth, and the start of something real.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light across the pavement, Clara glanced at Liam and saw him already looking at her. He smiled.
She smiled back, heart full.
That evening, Liam drove Clara home after their first date. The car ride had been filled with soft music and occasional laughter. When they pulled into the driveway of her home, Liam parked the car and got out without hesitation, walking around to open the passenger door for her. Clara stepped out slowly, her hand brushing his as she did, and they walked together to her front doorstep, the fading light casting long shadows around them.
There was a pause when they reached her door, a soft silence settling over them like a blanket. Liam turned to face her fully, his eyes meeting hers with a gentleness that made her stomach flutter.
"Clara," he said, voice low, sincere, "did you enjoy today's date?"
Clara nodded, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "I did. More than I expected."
Liam chuckled softly, leaning just a little closer. "And… were you satisfied with my performance as your date?"
She laughed, biting her lip. "I think you passed with flying colors."
"Good," he said, his gaze dipping briefly to her lips before rising again. "Because in some Western cultures, when a man and a woman both enjoy a date… they usually end it with a kiss."
Her breath caught.
Liam gently reached up and cupped her face, his thumb brushing softly along her cheek. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to pull away but Clara didn't. She leaned in slightly, her eyes fluttering shut just as their lips met.
The kiss was soft, tender, and unhurried. The moment their lips touched, Clara felt her chest bloom with warmth, her heart racing like it was trying to catch up with time itself.
When Liam pulled back just slightly, his forehead still resting against hers, he studied her face with a quiet intensity. Her cheeks were glowing, her lashes fluttering as she tried to find her voice.
"So…" she whispered, looking up at him through a smile. "How many people have you kissed before me?"
Liam's grin softened into something almost boyish. "You're the first," he said simply.
Clara blinked, surprised and deeply moved. Her heart swelled at the sincerity in his eyes, the honesty in his voice.
She reached up and brushed a hand along his jaw. "Then I'm honored," she whispered. Liam smiled. "Me too."
As Liam's car pulled away into the evening light, Clara stood at the doorstep for a moment longer, her fingers brushing her lips, the warmth of his kiss still lingering there like a secret only she knew. Her heart was fluttering, not with nerves this time but with something light, something hopeful.
She quietly opened the door and stepped inside, trying not to draw attention to herself, but she wasn't quick enough.
"Back already?" came her father's voice from the living room.
Clara froze, then peeked around the corner to find him seated in his favorite armchair, a book resting forgotten on his lap and a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The television hummed softly in the background, but his eyes were all on her.
She tried to keep her composure, but the blush rose instantly in her cheeks. "It… went well," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped further into the room.
Her father's eyes sparkled. "Well, huh?" he repeated, setting the book aside. "That's the smile of a young woman who's trying very hard to stay calm after a good date."
"Dad," Clara groaned, hiding her face behind her hands, but she was laughing.
"I'm just saying," he chuckled, rising from his chair with a small wince as he stretched. "Liam seems like a good man. Grounded. Polite. Thoughtful. I liked the way he looked at you—like you mattered."
Clara's blush deepened as she lowered her hands. "He… does have this way of making me feel seen. Like he listens, really listens."
Her father nodded, crossing the room slowly to stand beside her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "That's all I've ever wanted for you, Clara. Someone who sees you for who you are and chooses you anyway."
Her eyes shimmered at the quiet affection in his voice, and she nodded. "I really like Liam. "
Her father's smile widened with genuine happiness. "Then I'm glad. Liam Reynolds is a good man—and with any luck," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "maybe we'll be hearing some good news soon."
Clara laughed, swatting his arm playfully. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Dad."
He chuckled, ruffling her hair like he used to when she was little. "What can I say? A father can hope."
And as Clara climbed the stairs to her room, her heart still light, she glanced over her shoulder to see her father watching her with a quiet smile, his eyes full of contentment. For the first time in a long while, things felt like they were finally falling into place.