Our conversation was easy. We talked travel and work, the shared comedy of terrible app experiences, and the loss of old-school movie theaters you could enjoy without taking out a small loan. When the check arrived, I reached for my wallet out of habit.
Eric waved me off. “I’ve got it,” he said, sliding his card to the waiter with a practiced flourish. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but generous. I didn’t argue.
ART2
Outside, he offered his arm, walked me to my car, and waited until my engine turned over before heading to his. No pushy invitations, no lingering awkwardness—just a clean, pleasant goodnight. Driving home, I texted Mia: You might be right about this one.
The Morning Curveball
The next morning, I opened my email expecting a warm, simple note—something like “Had a great time.” Instead, I found a message with the subject line: Invoice for Last Night.
