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After about an hour of self-flagellation, I forced myself to return to the office. The knowing glances and muffled laughter that met me did little for my composure, but I kept my head high. I was an adult, not some infatuated teenager. So I’d made a laughable mistake, but not a capital offense.
When I reached my desk, I noticed a new email from Alexander winking at me from my inbox. My heart stuttered. With no small amount of trepidation, I opened it. But instead of anger or embarrassment, his message conveyed gentle understanding. He admitted to finding the entire mishap rather amusing, calling it endearing evidence of my “zest for life.” I let out a shaky laugh. Only Alexander could turn my mortifying blunder into something charming.
At the end of the email, he included a quote from his favorite poet: “The course of true love never did run smooth.” Though brief, his words soothed my frazzled nerves, hinting that our budding connection was strong enough to weather a healthy dose of humor.
I leaned back in my chair, exhaling fully for the first time all afternoon. I had made quite the comedic fool of myself, but the reward was a deeper understanding of Alexander. Not only was he kind and wise, but he could take laughter in stride. Maybe this complete debacle had brought us closer after all.
I hit reply to craft my response. No more clandestine emails - from now on, any messages will be double-checked for recipients. But first, I thanked Alexander for his grace and patience and asked him over for dinner tonight. I had much to learn about romance, but I looked forward to the lesson with him by my side.
Chapter 18
I couldn’t contain my excitement as I walked to the Market Square, weaving through the familiar cobblestone streets. The warm afternoon sun washed over the vibrant storefronts, filling the air with an intoxicating blend of aromas. I was trying to find the perfect ingredients for a romantic dinner with Alexander.
My heart fluttered at the thought of cooking for him in my cozy kitchen, creating a meal filled with meaning and memories. Choosing the ingredients felt like an act of love. I wanted to pick each item with care and intention.
I gathered the freshest herbs and vegetables at the farmer’s stalls - fragrant basil, sweet cherry tomatoes, and crisp greens for a salad. I smiled to myself, imagining Alexander’s face lighting up after the first bite. Moving through the square, I stopped by the cheese vendor, selecting an aged Parmesan and creamy burrata that oozes when you slice it.
For the main course, I chose two plump salmon fillets nestled on a bed of ice, picturing them roasted to tender perfection. Finally, I picked up a decadent tiramisu at the bakery, recallingour dinner at Casa D’Oliva and how we had laughed, sharing dessert.
My heart swelled as I made my way home, bags in hand, ready to pour my feelings into creating something delicious. This dinner represented my deepening bond with Alexander. I wanted it to be perfect, an edible expression of everything I felt but hadn’t yet found the words to say.
***
I hurried around my kitchen, feeling excitement and anxiety as I prepared for the romantic dinner with Alexander. I’d chosen all the fancy ingredients, envisioning an elegant meal that would convey the depth of my feelings. But now, staring at the elaborate salmon recipe, doubt crept in.
“Maybe I was too ambitious,” I murmured, wiping my brow as I puzzled over unfamiliar techniques like confit and gastrique. The last time I had cooked something this complex was years ago, for...well, no one, actually. Just me.
I chuckled ruefully as I realized this dish was a metaphor for my love life - or lack thereof - over the past few years. In my focus on my journalism career, relationships had fallen by the wayside. And now, here I was, trying to create an intricate romantic dinner when I was woefully out of practice.
As I fumbled with the tools and intricate steps, flashes of memories emerged - lonely nights eating takeout in my apartment, declining friends’ dinner invitations to work late at the paper. I had prioritized my work over my personal life for so long that I felt out of sync in matters of the heart.
I thought back to all those evenings spent poring over articles in my small, quiet apartment, the glow of my laptop illuminating my focused face. Chinese takeout containers and coffee mugslittered my table, remnants of a dinner eaten distractedly between edits.
At the time, I was so driven and devoted to my journalism career that everything else faded into the background. I told myself that the late nights and sacrificed social life were necessary steps for my success. But now, standing alone in this kitchen with lavish ingredients for an intimate meal for two, I realized how isolated I had become. Connecting with another person romantically felt foreign, like learning a language I was never taught. My heart was as out of practice at love as my hands were at flambeing.
But Alexander was different. With him, I wanted to open myself back up and savor life’s pleasures that I had overlooked. I took a deep breath and continued prepping the meal, willing myself to retake a chance. This salmon may not turn out perfectly, but neither would my budding relationship if I let fear hold me back. I sliced the vegetables with renewed determination, embracing this new chapter of possibilities.
***
With the salmon finally resting and the tiramisu chilling in the fridge, I dashed upstairs in a panic to find something to wear. My closet was mostly filled with sensible work clothes and casual weekend outfits, nothing that screamed “romantic dinner date.” I rifled through my dresses, rejecting each one as either too dull or inappropriate. A little black dress from work event? It’s a cocktail party. My go-to navy wrap dress for work? Too professional. The floral sundress I wore to the Spring Festival with Alexander? Too casual.
I was about to give up hope when I spotted a garment bag tucked away in the back. I bought this dress on a whim years ago but never found the right opportunity to wear it. Unzipping thebag revealed a stunning cobalt blue satin dress with a sweetheart neckline and a flowing skirt that hit just below the knee. It was elegant yet playful. I quickly shed my cooking clothes and slipped the silky fabric over my head, loving how it clung to my hips.
I dug out the matching cobalt heels from the back of my closet and fastened a simple silver necklace around my neck. For makeup, I went with a touch of smoky eye shadow to make my brown eyes pop, blush to highlight my cheekbones, and rose lipstick to match the dress. I styled my natural curls into a low-side bun and spilled on perfume.
Taking one final look in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. I looked glamorous yet comfortable, finally wearing a dress that captured my personal style. This was the perfect outfit for my romantic dinner with Alexander.
I was finishing my outfit when the doorbell rang, sending me into a panic. I had only managed to get one heel on, but I didn’t want to keep Alexander waiting. I lopsidedly hobbled down the stairs as fast as I could, cursing myself for not being ready on time.
When I opened the door, the sight of Alexander made me temporarily forget my missing shoe and the strands of hair falling across my face. Standing there in a crisp button-down shirt, he looked so handsome, holding a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers and a bottle of wine.
“Well, don’t you look...” Alexander began, his eyes traveling up and down.
I felt my cheeks flush. “I know. I’m a bit of a mess. The other shoe is upstairs and I was trying to fix my hair when you got here and...”
Alexander gently brushed the loose curls back from my face, his fingers barely grazing my skin. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.
His tender gesture and words made my heart skip.
