First Date
Aria
He took me to a restaurant that had no right being as beautiful as it was on a Tuesday night in Minnesota.
Not flashy. Not the kind of place designed to impress through volume — no towering ceilings or aggressive lighting or waitstaff who recited the menu like a performance. Just warm. Low lit. The kind of place that felt like it had been there forever and intended to stay, with dark wood and candles and the particular quiet of somewhere people came to actually talk to each other.
I slid into the booth across from him and looked around and then looked at him.
“How long have you known about this place,” I said.
“Years,” he said. “I come here when I need to think.”
“Alone,” I said.
“Always alone,” he said. “Until tonight.”
Something warm moved through my chest.
I pi
