The Aftermath of a Dance
997 Words
The next morning, Emma was trying to focus on work.
She had an entire list of things to do—new orders to prepare, customer emails to answer, and a fresh shipment of roses to inspect. But no matter how hard she tried, she kept getting stuck on one very inconvenient thought:
Ryan Mitchell.
Last night’s gala had been… unexpected. Not just because she’d had a good time, but because she had felt something.
Something dangerously close to enjoying his company.
It made no sense. Ryan was the enemy—or, at the very least, a nuisance she had to tolerate. He was smug, irritating, and ridiculously sure of himself. And yet, for a few fleeting moments last night, he had seemed… different.
More than that, she had let herself relax around him.
And that? That was dangerous.
"Earth to Emma," Claire said, waving a hand in front of her face.
Emma blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. She was supposed to be arranging a bouquet, but instead, she’d been absently trimming the same stem over and over.
Claire smirked. "You were thinking about him, weren’t you?"
Emma scowled. "No."
Claire gasped. "Oh my God, you were!"
"I wasn’t!"
Claire grinned. "You were."
Emma groaned. "Even if I was, it’s only because I’m trying to understand how someone can be so annoying one second and almost charming the next."
Claire wiggled her eyebrows. "Maybe because you like him?"
Emma snorted. "Oh, please. I tolerate him. Barely."
Claire hummed. "Tolerate him enough to dance with him at a fancy gala?"
Emma groaned, dropping her head onto the counter. "It was one dance!"
Claire laughed. "Yeah, and yet here you are, overthinking it."
Before Emma could respond, the shop door chimed.
She straightened immediately, preparing for a customer—
But of course.
Of course, it was him.
Ryan Mitchell, standing in her shop like he belonged there.
Emma crossed her arms. "Are you haunting me?"
Ryan smirked. "Missed me already?"
Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh. My life felt so empty without your sarcasm."
Claire, ever the troublemaker, leaned against the counter, watching them with obvious amusement. "This is so much better than reality TV."
Emma ignored her. "What do you want, Ryan?"
Ryan slid his hands into his pockets, looking completely at ease. "I came to collect on my winnings."
Emma frowned. "Excuse me?"
Ryan smirked. "You lost our bet. Which means you owe me."
Emma groaned. "Ugh. Fine. What ridiculous thing am I doing today? Washing your car? Delivering flowers to your scary corporate friends?"
Ryan shook his head. "Nope. Be ready at six."
Emma blinked. "Six in the morning?"
Ryan chuckled. "No. Six tonight."
Emma narrowed her eyes. "For what?"
Ryan shrugged. "Dinner."
Silence.
Emma stared at him. Claire gasped dramatically.
Emma scoffed. "Wait, wait, wait. Dinner?"
Ryan nodded. "Dinner."
Emma pointed at him. "With you?"
Ryan smirked. "I don’t see anyone else asking."
Claire clapped her hands. "Oh my God, is this a date?"
Ryan and Emma both spoke at the same time.
"No."
Claire pouted. "Boring."
Emma folded her arms. "So let me get this straight. You, a man who doesn’t believe in romance, want to take me, a literal florist, to dinner?"
Ryan nodded. "Exactly."
Emma narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
Ryan met her gaze, and for once, he didn’t look like he was joking. "Because I’m curious about you."
Emma’s brain stalled for a moment.
Claire squeaked. "Oh, this is juicy."
Emma, still processing, said, "That sounds like a trap."
Ryan smirked. "It’s not a trap. It’s an opportunity."
Emma arched a brow. "For what?"
Ryan’s eyes gleamed. "For you to prove me wrong."
Emma hesitated.
It should have been an automatic no. She should have laughed in his face, told him she wasn’t interested and gone back to work.
But instead…
Instead, she found herself intrigued.
Against her better judgment, she sighed. "Fine. One dinner. But if you turn this into a debate about romance being fake, I’m leaving."
Ryan smirked. "Deal."
Emma had no idea what she had just agreed to.
But something told her…
It was about to change everything.
---
Dinner With the Enemy
At exactly 6:00 PM, Emma stood outside the restaurant Ryan had picked.
It was an upscale Italian place—one of those restaurants with dim lighting, real candles on the tables, and a menu that probably didn’t have prices listed.
Oh, great.
Ryan, dressed in another one of his stupidly expensive suits, was already waiting outside.
"You’re late," he said.
Emma scoffed. "By two minutes."
Ryan smirked. "Still late."
Emma rolled her eyes. "If this is how the whole night is going to go, I might stab you with a breadstick."
Ryan chuckled. "Noted. Now, shall we?"
Inside, the restaurant was warm and inviting, the scent of garlic and fresh basil filling the air. The hostess led them to a quiet corner booth, and Emma tried not to feel too aware of the fact that this felt… weirdly intimate.
Ryan ordered a bottle of wine without even looking at the menu.
Emma arched a brow. "Confident, aren’t you?"
Ryan smirked. "I know what I like."
Emma leaned back. "So, tell me. Why bring me here?"
Ryan swirled his wine. "Maybe I just enjoy your company."
Emma snorted. "Not buying it."
Ryan chuckled. "Fine. Maybe I thought it’d be interesting to spend time with someone who doesn’t spend all day kissing up to me."
Emma blinked. She hadn’t expected that answer.
Ryan smirked. "Surprised?"
Emma hesitated. "A little."
Ryan leaned forward slightly. "Then let’s make a new bet."
Emma narrowed her eyes. "I just lost one."
Ryan’s grin widened. "Think of it as a challenge. If you can make me believe in romance—even for a second—you win."
Emma’s heart did something annoying.
She lifted her chin. "And what do I get if I win?"
Ryan smirked. "Whatever you want."
Emma considered this.
Then, with a slow smile, she leaned forward. "Game on, Mitchell."
- Writer
