“I asked you out. That makes it my responsibility.”
“That’s an outdated social construct, and you know it.” I didn’t let go of the check. “Let me get this one.”
“We could split it.”
“We could, but I’m getting it.” I pulled the folder toward me. “Nextone’s on you.”
His expression shifted. “Next one?”
“Yeah. Next one.” I met his eyes over the flickering candle. “Unless you don’t want there to be one.”
“I definitely want there to be.”
“Good. Then let me get this.”
He smiled, that careful smile that was cracking around the edges into something bigger, and let go of the check. “Deal.”
I paid, left a generous tip because the service had been excellent and I was in a stupidly good mood, and then we were standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.
Nine-thirty. The night still young, the Brooklyn streets alive with Saturday energy. Neither of us moved toward the subway.
“Walk with me?” Ellis asked.
“Where to?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.”
We started walking with no destination in mind, just following streets that looked interesting. The conversation continued, easier now, the nervous energy from earlier replaced by something more comfortable. We talked about nothing: the restaurants we passed, the weird art installation in someone’s front yard, and the cat watching us from a window.
A few blocks in, we passed a brownstone with its stoop lit by warm light spilling from the windows. Through the glass, a couple sat at their dining table, laughing over something on their phone, shoulders nearly touching.
“That could be us one day. Getting old in Brooklyn, eating dinner together like it’s the most interesting thing that’s ever happened.”
For a beat, Ellis went still beside me. His hand tightened around mine.
“Maybe.” His voice had changed. Tighter. Like the thought, both thrilled and terrified him.
I started to ask what was wrong, but he was already pivoting, his stridelengthening, the space between us staying the same but his attention turning inward. It was subtle enough that I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t starting to notice his patterns. The way he deflected when things got too real. The way he disappeared into himself when the future got too close.
“I had areallygood time tonight.” He pivoted.
“Me, too.”
“Like, a really good time. Better than I expected.”
“Should I be offended by that?”
“No!” He laughed, and the sound was easier now, as though he’d smoothed over whatever the moment had been. “I meant, I was so nervous I thought I’d forget how to talk. But this has been… easy. In a good way.”
We’d somehow ended up near Prospect Park, the trees’ dark shapes against the night sky. Fewer people here, quieter. More intimate.
Ellis stopped walking. Turned to face me. “Can I ask you something?”
My heart kicked up. “Sure.”
“Why did you really almost cancel tonight?”
