Our conversation ventured from betrayal to getting to know each other.
Around midnight, Adrian took off his jacket and folded it neatly over the arm of the chair like a man who had not, in fact, expected his fake date to turn into champagne and confessions.
I looked at him and said, “You know, you’re much kinder than Adam.”
He held my gaze for a second.
“I’d like to stay that way.”
That was the moment something shifted.
Just the quiet awareness that I was sitting across from a man who had every reason to turn bitter and had somehow chosen not to.
He hugged me before he left and promised to stay in touch.
We did not rush anything after that.
Which, ironically, was probably the first healthy thing either of us had done in years.
We texted the next day. Then the day after. A week later, we had dinner without fake backstories. Two weeks after that, we went to a small theater downtown and enjoyed each other’s company.
A month later, I realized I was looking forward to seeing his face in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.
He never pushed or performed.
So when we finally fell in love, it felt natural. It felt like finally coming home.
