"So you both took a bath together and then you just left?" Alex asked, setting my coffee on the counter in front of me. The foam had a delicate little floral pattern, steam curling up from the rim as I shifted it closer.

"Yeah," I said, unable to stop the warmth that crept up my cheeks. "It was really sweet. He washed my hair while we talked about the bookstore." I took a sip, eyes lifting to catch the smug look already forming on Alex's face.

"What?" I asked, even though I already knew what was coming.

"Better than fiction?"

"Better than fiction," I admitted, soft and a little breathless from the memory. I used to joke that no one could ever compare to fictional men, that they were too perfectly scripted to exist in real life. But Jackson... Jackson cracked that logic wide open. He made me feel like I could stop writing about daydreams and actually live one.

Alex leaned in, arms folding on the counter. "Has he tried to contact you since then? Maybe ask you out? I mean, clearly something sparked."

I shook my head, exhaling through my nose. "No. It was... just a hookup. You don't need chemistry to have sex."

It would be a lie if I said I wasn't a little disappointed. It had been three days. Three days of nothing. No texts. No late-night "you up?" message. Not even a like on the carefully curated "good morning" post I'd made—books artfully stacked on my kitchen table, light streaming in through the window, my hand resting on the edge like I was part of the still life. It was soft, cozy and aesthetic. How could anyone resist giving a little like?

This was why I didn't do casual. I always knew I'd get too invested the moment someone actually touched me like they meant it. Especially if that someone was Jackson Reyes—my muse in the flesh.

"Maybe you should try dating again," Alex said, her tone cautious but teasing. "Now that you've got your foot back in the door. Why stop here?"

"No, no, no," I shook my head quickly. "I'm done with hookups."

"I said dating," she laughed. "Not left-right-left-right-fuck. I mean an actual date. Dinner. A movie. Long talks that don't end in orgasms—though those don't hurt either."

I bit my lip, staring down into the coffee. The truth was I liked it. The closeness. The warmth. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed affection until I was suddenly drowning in it.

"I'll think about it," I murmured.

The shop door chimed before she could say anything else, and Alex shot me a grin as she slipped back to the coffee machine.

"Time to get back to work, boss."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I turned and made my way to the front of the store.

A woman stood at the front counter, a stack of papers hugged to her chest and a practiced, gentle smile resting on her face. Her dress was yellow with sunflowers and made her look like the embodiment of a summer day.

"Hi, are you the owner?" she asked as she stepped closer, her gaze finding mine.

"Yes?" I answered, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

She would've been the cutest possible way to be served a lawsuit. My stomach fluttered. What if Jackson was suing me for using his likeness and that night was just a ploy to soften the blow?

She reached out a hand and I shook it, trying to steady the tiny panic dancing beneath my skin.

"I'm Cassie," she said warmly. "I work with Speed-Mates—like soulmates?" She chuckled at her own pun. "It's a speed dating service. I was wondering if I could leave a flyer here for our Love Bingo night?"

She handed it to me. The slogan read: "Come for a chance to find your soulmate, stay for a prize!"—complete with little hearts and clip art bingo cards. It was cheesy and definitely in need of a marketing overhaul, but there was a sincerity in its awkward charm that made me smile.

Cassie's eyes wandered over the shop. "This is a really cute setup. Would you ever be open to hosting one of our events? We've got a Lit & Love night coming up in a few months and this would be a beautiful venue."

"You think so?" I couldn't stop my smile from growing.

"Definitely!" she said, pulling a business card from her pocket. "If you're interested in becoming a venue partner, feel free to reach out." With another sunny smile, she turned and walked out the door.

And just like that, my brain took off. I could see it now—standing tables covered with parchment-style cloths scrawled in romantic quotes, flower petals scattered in the shape of hearts on every surface, pink and white balloons strung along the walls beneath fairy lights. A theme, maybe fantasy romance. Renaissance or regency, corsets and poetry and soft, stolen glances. It would be adorable.

"Damn, she didn't even give you a chance to decline the flyer," Alex said, suddenly behind me.

I yelped and spun toward her, hand clutching my chest. "You need to stop sneaking up on people!"

"She went straight for the charm offensive," Alex teased. "Good strategy. Buttered you up with compliments."

"Can you imagine if we did become a venue for something like that?" I said, still caught in the vision. "It'd be great publicity!"

"We could hang a poster near the romance section that says, 'Date didn't go well? Don't worry, here's your someone else's happy ending.'" She grinned. "Betcha sales would go up."

I laughed. "That's actually not a bad idea. Though maybe we word it sweeter. Something with a pun."

Alex leaned over to look at the flyer again, then tapped it. "You should go. If not for yourself, then for the store. Just to see what kind of business partner they'd be."

I squinted at her, instantly suspicious. "You're manipulating me."

"Yup," she said without hesitation, "but I'm right."

Unfortunately... she was.

***

My steps faltered at the entrance of the conference center. My fingers tightened around my phone, thumb hovering before I gave in and refreshed my DMs again.

Still nothing.

It had been five days now. No message. But he had posted something—a snapshot of a whiskey glass on a polished table, the background a glittering cityscape from what looked like an upscale rooftop restaurant. No tagged location, but I could tell he wasn't in Stillwater. And in the lower corner of the frame, almost cropped out, was the rim of a wine glass.

Maybe it belonged to a business associate. Maybe it was his. Or maybe—just maybe—it was hers.

Whoever she might be.

I told myself it didn't matter. We weren't anything. I was just the woman he'd had a one-night stand with. The woman who would, eventually, be the boss of his daughter. Totally normal. Totally casual.

My finger hovered over the little heart icon on his post. A petty part of me wanted to like it. Just to say I saw it. But what would I even be saying with that? Nothing meaningful. Nothing brave.

I slipped my phone into my purse and pushed open the doors.

And immediately—my mood lifted.

The setup for Love Bingo was downright adorable. It looked like Valentine's Day and the Hallmark Channel had collided at full speed in the middle of the room—and I absolutely adored it.

String lights draped across the ceiling like stars caught in netting, casting a warm amber glow over the room. Everything was dipped in soft reds and dusty pinks, from the linen-covered tables to the little heart-shaped confetti scattered across the floor. Each table was set for two—small, round things tucked close together, just enough space for knees to brush.

Cassie stood near the front, practically glowing as she flitted from person to person, handing out bingo cards  and name-tags with the kind of practiced cheer that made it feel genuine anyway. Her ponytail bounced with every step, and her laugh chimed softly over the low hum of people mingling and the quiet lo-fi music playing in the background.

To the side, a quaint little snack and drink station was set up, decorated with faux rose vines and little chalkboard signs with loopy handwriting: Sweetheart Sips, Flirt Fuel, Chocolate That'll Judge No One. There were mini bottles of sparkling cider, glass pitchers of sangria, sugar cookies in heart shapes, and tiny puff pastries stacked like offerings to the gods of romance and blood sugar spikes.

There were a handful of people in their late twenties to early thirties nervously clutching their bingo cards, already eyeing the room like they were studying for a test.

I just stood there for a second, feeling both too in my head and not in it enough. But somehow, in this valentine-drenched chaos of meet-cutes and desperate flirtations, it felt like maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Or at least... where I needed to be tonight.

"Ava!" Cassie's voice rang out the moment she spotted me. She beamed like we were old friends and not just business acquaintances who exchanged two emails. "I was so happy to see your name on the roster."

She handed me a pastel-pink bingo card and a tiny heart-shaped stamper that looked like it belonged in a child's stationery kit. My eyes flicked over the squares: Met someone who owns a cat, Talked to someone who's fluent in another language... Okay. Cute.

"First ten people to fill out a full row win a gift certificate to a restaurant of their choosing from our list of sponsors." She gently pressed a name tag onto the front of my dress. "There's a check list on the back for you to stamp if you liked one of your dates. Women stay seated, and when the timer goes off, the gentlemen will rotate clockwise. Got it?"

"Got it," I nodded, smoothing my hand over the name tag, even though it was already perfectly secure. 

"I'm placing you at table three," she added with a wink. "Good luck. Hope you find your speed mate."

I made my way over, pulling out the chair with a slight scrape across the floor. My fingers brushed the construction-paper table number, its edges curling a little. It was all so endearingly DIY, like a school project trying very hard to be a wedding.

"Alright, if everyone can be seated, we're going to get started!" Cassie called out from the front.

A guy slid into the chair across from me. Brown hair, decently cute, dressed in that sweet spot between trying and not trying too hard. "Hi, I'm Dan," he said with a smile—and a dimple. Promising.

"Ava," I replied, reaching out to shake his hand. His palm was clammy, but who was I to judge? 

"I've never done this before," he said quickly, his words spilling out like a dam cracked. "So for efficiency's sake—since this is speed dating—I'll give you a summary. I'm twenty-one. Local. Studying to be a medical technician. I have a dog. I live with my parents at the moment. No real hobbies I can think of. Hanging out? Netflix?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but he steamrolled on.

"How long have you been single? Do you have any kids? What are your thoughts on traditional family dynamics?"

"Um—" I started, but he didn't seem to notice as he continued on... and on.

Yeah... I don't think I'm into this.

My eyes dropped to the bingo card again, uncapping the heart stamper. I scanned for a square that said Talked to someone who's looking to marry a younger version of his mother, but Cassie hadn't included that one. Pity.

"Time's up!" Cassie announced.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"It was really nice meeting you, Ava," Dan said, shaking my hand again before moving on.

"You too," I offered, politely, even though I knew I wouldn't be stamping a name for that round.

One after another, the men sitting across from me reminded me exactly why I preferred romance books.

This wasn't dating—it was emotional dodgeball.

What was I expecting? Speed dating was the last rest stop before Dating App Despair. It was the middle ground between "swipe culture" and the people who still believed in serendipity but needed a clipboard to make it happen.

"Nathan," a voice broke through my mental spiral, and I looked up to see him extending a hand.

His fingers were clean, unadorned. No wedding ring. No tan line where one used to be—unlike the last guy.

"Ava," I said, slipping my hand into his.

Then I looked up fully, and—God.

He was beautiful. That unfair kind of beautiful that you don't expect to actually exist in real life. Prince-like, if the prince wore faded black jeans and a soft-looking t-shirt instead of a sash and armor. His golden-blond hair had that slightly tousled, not-too-styled look, like it would be warm and soft under your fingers. And his eyes—deep navy, startling in contrast—locked with mine with an ease that made my heart skip, then stutter.

"Sonnet 116?" he asked, and for a second I blinked, thrown.

"Huh?" I managed.

He pointed gently toward my necklace—just a simple gold bar, the words etched so delicately only someone really looking would catch them.

"'Love alters not,'" he read aloud, smiling. "Is that a nod to Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, or did I just out myself as a poetry nerd?"

Oh my God. He knows poetry. I think I forgot how to breathe.