The restaurant was warm, softly lit, and quieter than Cynthia expected.
Low music played in the background—something slow and jazzy that made conversations feel private even when they weren't. Glasses clinked gently. Laughter rose and fell like distant waves.
Daniel held the door open for her.
"After you."
"Thank you," Cynthia said, stepping inside.
She took it all in—the candlelit tables, the neatly dressed waiters, the calm atmosphere. It was nice. Comfortable.
Daniel pulled out her chair. "I hope this place is okay. I didn't want anything too loud."
"It's perfect," she replied honestly.
They sat.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Not because it was awkward—but because they were both aware of what this was.
A date.
Daniel smiled first, breaking the silence. "I'm glad you said yes."
She returned the smile. "Me too."
And she meant it.
They ordered drinks, then food, talking easily while they waited.
Daniel told her about his first week at the company—how he'd mixed up departments, how he once emailed the wrong group and spent an entire afternoon pretending nothing happened.
Cynthia laughed. "That explains why everyone suddenly knew your coffee order."
He chuckled.
She found herself relaxing more than she expected. Daniel wasn't trying too hard. He wasn't performing. He listened when she spoke, asked questions, remembered her answers.
That mattered.
"And you?" he asked. "You seem like someone who enjoys quiet moments."
She paused, surprised by how accurate that felt. "I do. I like… balance. Chaos when it's fun. Calm when it's needed."
He nodded thoughtfully. "That suits you."
Her heart skipped—just slightly.
The food arrived.
Halfway through the meal, Cynthia caught herself smiling at nothing.
Daniel noticed. "What?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "Just thinking."
"Good thinking or dangerous thinking?"
She laughed. "A little of both."
Across the city, Alexander sat alone at his dining table.
The house was quiet again.
Too quiet.
He told himself he didn't care where Cynthia was or who she was with. He told himself that several times.
It didn't help.
He picked up his phone, then put it down.
No reason.
None at all.
Back at the restaurant, dessert menus were placed in front of them.
Daniel glanced at his, then at her. "Do you like chocolate?"
"Yes," she said. "But only if it's done properly."
He smiled. "Good. Because this place takes it very seriously."
They ordered one dessert to share.
When it arrived, Daniel paused. "I should warn you—I tend to steal the last bite."
Cynthia raised an eyebrow. "That's bold."
She laughed and took a bite immediately. "Problem solved."
"Already?" he said, mock offended.
She smiled. "You snooze, you lose."
He shook his head, amused. "I see how it is."
Their forks accidentally touched.
A small thing.
But they both noticed.
The air shifted—just slightly.
Not intense.
Not overwhelming.
But real.
"So," Daniel said quietly after a moment, "can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"What made you say yes?"
She considered the question carefully.
"You were honest," she said finally. "You didn't make it complicated."
He nodded. "I didn't want to."
"I like that," she added.
He smiled, clearly relieved.
"And you?" she asked. "Why ask me?"
He met her gaze. "Because you're thoughtful. And because you laugh like you mean it."
Her chest tightened gently at that.
The night moved quickly after that.
Conversation flowed easily. No pressure. No pretending.
When they stepped outside, the air was cool, the city glowing softly around them.
Daniel walked her to the car.
"I had a really good time," he said.
"So did I," she replied.
He hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Would you like to do this again?"
She didn't hesitate this time. "Yes."
His smile was slow, genuine. "I'm glad."
He opened the car door for her, then paused. "Goodnight, Cynthia."
"Goodnight, Daniel."
As the car pulled away, she leaned back against the seat, exhaling softly.
It had been a good date.
A genuinely good one.
Still—
Her phone buzzed.
A notification.
Alexander: Hope your evening went well.
She stared at the message longer than she should have.
Then she typed back.
Cynthia: It did. Thank you.
She sent it, set the phone down, and looked out the window.
Somewhere else, Alexander read the message, nodded once, and placed his phone face down.
That table between them—
distance, timing, choices—
Was growing more crowded by the day.