Date Night with Chris

You’re standing in front of the mirror, staring at three dresses draped across the bed and feeling completely incapable of choosing.

“Why is this harder than interviewing a senator?” you mutter.

From the doorway, Tom watches you with his arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Because senators don’t comment on your neckline.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “Very funny.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying — it’s a steakhouse, not the Met Gala. You’ll look great in whatever you wear.”

“That’s not the point,” you say, picking up a deep green wrap dress and holding it against yourself. “He’s… intense. Confident. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, but I also don’t want him thinking I’m intimidated.”

Tom chuckles softly. “You? Intimidated? Please.” He steps closer, gently plucking the dress from your hands and hanging it back on the rack. “This one,” he says, pointing to the sleek navy one instead. “It says ‘I’m elegant, but I can still destroy you in an argument.’”

You can’t help but laugh. “That’s… actually perfect.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself, but then his expression softens. “Hey — don’t forget your ring.”

You glance down at your hand. The gold band catches the light — a quiet little giveaway. You slip it off, setting it carefully on the dresser. For some reason, the motion makes your stomach twist.

Tom watches you for a moment too long. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, brushing your hair back. “Yeah. Just… scattered. First impressions and all.”

He smirks, trying to lighten the air again. “If he’s as confident as you say, he’ll do all the talking. Just nod and smile.”

You exhale a laugh, picking up your clutch. “Got it. Smile, nod, observe. Easy.”

“Right,” he says, following you toward the door. “And remember — if he starts bragging about his stock portfolio, I’m sending a rescue text.”

You glance back at him, smiling despite your nerves. “Deal.”

Tom gives you one last long look before you go. “You’ll be fine,” he says softly. “Just… be yourself. Even if that self is undercover.”

You roll your eyes, but you feel steadier as you step into the hall — heart pounding, mind racing, lipstick perfect.