Conversation

The first minutes are light, ordering drinks, swapping small talk about work, the weather, and little things to bridge the gap between screens and real life.

But it doesn’t stop there. One glass of wine turns into two, and before you know it, you’ve been talking for hours. The restaurant fills and empties around you, plates cleared away, new candles lit on the tables.

Somewhere between a story about his time in the army and a joke about your kids’ school photos, he leans back and says, “I should probably tell you… I’m not into one-night stands. Not really my thing.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Then why meet me?”

He smiles, not embarrassed, just honest. “Because I was curious about you. You don’t seem like… the type to be on here. And I wanted to see what you were actually like.”

You study him for a second. “And?”

“And you’re… not what I expected. In a good way.”

It’s only then that you notice how different his energy is from what you’d pictured. He’s not pushing, not scanning the room, not even looking at his phone. He’s present. Solid. The kind of man who listens properly when you speak, who remembers the little details you mentioned an hour ago.

He talks about past relationships, steady ones, long-term, and it’s clear he’s not the type to play games. If anything, he seems almost too loyal, the kind of man who’d be a loving husband and father without ever straying.

By the time you realise it’s getting late, you can feel it in your chest; this isn’t going to turn into what you half-thought it might. And strangely, you’re not disappointed.

When you stand to leave, there’s no unspoken pressure, no lingering look toward the door. Just a warm, steady smile and a, “I’m glad I met you.”

And as you step back into the cool night air, you know Tom will be awake when you get home, and you’re already wondering how you’ll tell him about the kind of man you just spent the evening with. You send him a quick text, "I am on my way home x"