The memory unfolded in warm lamplight. An Italian place just off campus; the table too small for our knees not to bump. Garlic and fresh herbs scented the air. He ordered pasta and talked with his hands, words spilling fast, his eyes bright when he forgot to guard them. I barely tasted my food, already drunk on the shape of his smile, and the way his laughter folded the whole room inward until there was only us.
We talked for hours about nothing and everything. Conversation that stretches time thin until you forget where you are. He told me he was pre-med, twenty like me, addicted to medical dramas and grunge rock. That he loved cats but wasallergic to dander, which felt unfairly poetic somehow. God knows what I said, but I could’ve listened forever. The sound of his voice flowed through me, thick like honey, warming something deep in my soul.
Adrian leaned across the tiny table, elbows brushing mine. “So—paralegal studies, huh? What’s the craziest case you’ve ever read about in class?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… I guess the one about the cat inheritance? A woman left her fortune to her Maine Coon.”
He laughed, low and warm. The vibration made my insides thrum.
“Seriously? That’s… impressive dedication to cats.” He scribbled something on a napkin, maybe a note, maybe nothing at all. “And your parents? Are they lawyers too?”
“No. My dad’s an accountant, and my mom teaches high school history. They, uh, both think law is… stressful.” I laughed nervously, twisting the straw in my glass. “So maybe they’re secretly happy I’m not actually in court yet.”
Adrian’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses. “Okay, so what about food? I need to know if I’m going to like cooking for you someday, or at least survive your taste tests.”
I grinned. He was already talking about the same future I could see as clearly as the dimple in his chin. “I like spicy food . And chocolate. And… well, basically anything that doesn’t require me to eat kale.”
He jotted that down too, tilting his head. “Got it. Spicy, chocolate, no kale. Coffee—wait, what do you usually drink again?”
I raised an eyebrow. “A latte with oat milk?”
He nodded furiously. “Latte. With oat milk. Got it. No, wait—vanilla?”
“Yes, vanilla.”
“And whipped cream?”
“Yes, whipped cream.”
“And sugar?”
“No sugar!” I laughed, exasperated, but his smile was infectious. “You’ve literally asked me six times now.”
“I’m memorizing it,” he said seriously, tapping his temple. “If I ever forget your order, the relationship is over.”
I shook my head, still smiling. I didn’t mind his intensity at all. Not one bit. This gorgeous, brilliant, driven man gave me his undivided attention, and I drank it in.
I smelled his spicy cologne. Admired the way his glasses set off his big brown eyes. Felt the way his leg nudged mine and stayed there, casual but explosive. I ached from holding in too much—the joy, the terror, the pull of his magnetism. Every glance he gave me landed like a blow straight to the heart, sharp enough to steal my breath but soft enough to make me crave the next.
When the server brought tiramisu we didn’t order, he grinned and pushed the first bite across the table toward me. My hand shook when I took the spoon from him, and I swear he noticed, because his grin tilted slyly, like he already knew what was happening, what he was doing to me.
I should’ve been terrified. Instead, I wanted to drown in it. In him.
That was the night it happened—our first kiss.
It was late when we left the restaurant, the streetsstill slick with rain, headlights smearing into long ribbons of white and red across the pavement. The air carried the fresh dampness of earth and water storms always left behind. Adrian walked beside me, his shoulder brushing mine every few steps, and I couldn’t tell if it was accidental, but I prayed it was deliberate.
He walked me all the way to my door, shoulders hunched against the chill, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other curling and uncurling as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but the words tangled around my tongue, useless, and all that came out was a shaky laugh.
Adrian leaned in before I could ruin it. No hesitation, no fumbling. Just his confidence closing the space between us. His lips tasted faintly of coffee and tiramisu, sweet and bitter all at once, and the warmth of his mouth against mine lit me up from the inside. My whole body stilled in shock, then flared, every nerve sparking awake as if lightning had struck me.
I clutched at his jacket, grounding myself in the feel of damp fabric under my fists. I was convinced that if I let go, I would vanish and be scattered to the wind like smoke. His hand slid to my jaw, thumb grazing the edge of my cheekbone, and the tenderness of it unraveled me completely.
He leaned in. “I need to do that again."
His lips pressed to mine with the same careful hesitation, testing, learning. Every brush, every small inhale between us, sent electric pulses throughout my body.
“I—I didn’t expect this,” he said when he pulled back, glasses fogging with condensation.
