When my best friend Mia insisted on setting me up with her boyfriend’s friend, I almost said no. Blind dates had never been my thing—too unpredictable, too awkward, too much room for disaster. But Mia was persistent. “Trust me,” she said. “Eric’s different. He’s polite, grounded, one of the good ones.” Against my better judgment, I agreed.
At first, she seemed to be right. Eric was attentive, funny, and, surprisingly, articulate in his messages. No lazy one-word replies or midnight “hey” texts. He asked about my work, hobbies, favorite coffee, even my weekend routine. By the end of the week, I felt comfortable enough to meet him. He chose a cozy Italian restaurant downtown—public, elegant, relaxed.
The evening started beautifully. He showed up early, holding a small bouquet of roses. He was dressed well, confident but not arrogant, and even brought a tiny silver keychain with my initial engraved on it. “A small something for you,” he said, smiling. It was thoughtful—maybe a little much for a first date, but I brushed that off.
Dinner went better than expected. Conversation flowed easily, filled with travel stories, embarrassing moments, and shared laughter. For once, I thought, maybe I’d met someone genuine. When the check came, I reached for my wallet, but Eric stopped me. “A man pays on the first date,” he said firmly, flashing a confident grin. It felt old-fashioned, but harmless. Afterward, he walked me to my car, wished me a good night, and didn’t even try to push for a kiss. I drove home smiling.
That smile didn’t last.
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