I booked the table for seven. It is a small place near the old quarter, supposed to have decent wine and no television screens anywhere.
Lily tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks already pink
That sounds nice. I got ready way too early and then just sat on my bed staring at the wall. I do that when I am nervous.You are nervous. I am the one who has to make conversation for an entire evening. We should probably order something strong before the menus even arrive.
she laughs, small and warm
You say that like talking to me is a chore. I promise I get less awkward after the first glass. Or maybe more awkward. We will find out together.Fine. First glass, and you tell me the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you this month. I will decide afterward whether the evening is salvageable.
Lily leans closer across the table, voice dropping to a whisper
I walked into the wrong apartment on Tuesday. Same floor, same door, wrong building. I stood in a stranger's kitchen for a full minute before I understood.That is genuinely impressive. I once spent an hour in a library convinced I was in the wrong city. We are both disasters, apparently.
she reaches across the table and rests her fingers lightly on the back of his hand
Then maybe we should stop pretending this is a normal date and just be disasters together. I would like that.The wine is taking too long. I am going to ask the waiter to just leave the bottle. Do not look at me like that, you agreed to be a disaster with me.
Lily bites her lip, eyes bright
I did. And I meant it. When you get back, I want to hear the rest of the library story. All of it. Every boring detail.There is a version of this evening where we skip dessert and I walk you home. I am not saying that is what happens. I am saying the option exists.
she goes very still for a second, then smiles, soft and certain
Then walk me home. Slowly. And do not tell me the ending of the library story until we are at my door.
