The restaurant's heavy oak door groans open, admitting a slice of the evening's cool air and a silhouette against the street's warm glow. The silhouette resolves into a man, and as his eyessweep the candlelit space, they find and hold mine across the room. Ted.
Relief washes over me, quick and sharp. He's no catfish. The man approaching my table is exactly as advertised: tall enough that he has to duck slightly under the low-hanging lamp by the entrance, his skin carrying a sun-kissed bronze. His brown hair is cut short, neat, and his shoulders—broad as the doorframe he just passed through—hint at the solid build beneath the dark button-down shirt. Every step he takes toward my table seems to eat up the floor, his presence filling the space between us with an undeniable weight.
I'm far from disappointed.
And he's arrived early, which is a huge plus.
"Well, hey there," Ted says, flashing a smile that reveals perfect white teeth. His hair practically gleams in the dim lighting. His jawline looks sharp enough to cut glass.
The relief of seeing Ted exactly as advertised must have short-circuited my brain, because the words tumble out before I can stop them. "It's a relief to see you look like your photos."
His smile doesn't falter as he extends a hand across the table. "Well, I appreciate the honesty."
His fingers close around mine, and the disappointment is immediate, a visceral shock that travels up my arm. The handshake is a betrayal of everything his confident appearance promised. His grip is damp and limp, like holding a dead fish. It's all I can do not to wipe my palm on my jeans when he finally releases me.
My mind drifts unbidden to Vince's handshake—firm, sure, drawing me in with its quiet strength. Ted's is none of those things. His sweaty palm lingers against mine.
"It's nice to meet you in person," Ted says, wiping his hand on his pants before we both sit down.
Wait, are my hands the clammy ones?
No, it's definitely his. A slick, unwelcome moisture that clung to my skin like a second, unwanted layer. He must be nervous.
I slide my palm along the crisp white linen beneath the table, the fabric absorbing the dampness in a desperate gesture. My fingers curl into a fist, the rough texture of the napkin a small anchor against the slick memory of his touch.
"So, Andrew, where are you from?"
"Uh," I say, thrown.
I blink, the question catching me off guard. My profile clearly states I'm from Alaska—right at the top.
I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Alaska."
"Oh!" Ted's thick eyebrows shoot up in pleasant surprise. "For real? That's crazy. What brings you out here?"
Ted hasn't read my profile.
How many dates has he gone on today? Can he not keep everyone straight? I sigh, taking a sip of my water to collect myself.
"I'm so sorry," Ted says quickly, his voice a little too loud in the intimate space. "Did we talk about this already?"
"No, we didn't," I reply, my tone measured. "I came out here in hopes of pursuing yoga as a career."
A subtle shift in Ted's expression, a faint tightening around his eyes, reads as disinterest, a shutter closing just enough to block me out.
"I know, I know. It's already oversaturated," I add, the words tumbling out in a rush to fill the void he's created. "There are a million reasons not to, but it's what I want to do, so I'm doing it."
His gaze drifts, scanning the restaurant's warm, wood-paneled walls as if searching for a conversational life raft. "Does that pay well?"
"I'm not sure," I admit, a knot of discomfort tightening in my stomach. "I imagine not. It's not about that."
His eyebrows draw together, a single line of confusion etched between them. "How are you paying your bills, then?"
The question hangs in the air, intrusive and presumptuous, prying at the carefully constructed walls I've built around myself.
"Quite frankly, that's not really any of your business," I say, my voice cool. "We haven't even ordered drinks yet, Ted."
A beat of silence stretches, thin and brittle, before Ted bursts into laughter, the sound sudden and jarring. "Damn. I came in way too hot, huh?"
