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The days that followed Ava's unexpected coffee date with Ethan were filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. She replayed their conversation in her mind, surprised at how easily they'd connected. His presence lingered like a soft hum in the background of her bustling days at the bakery.
On Thursday evening, just as the golden hour bathed the city in warm light, Ava stood in front of her bedroom mirror, smoothing the fabric of her pale blue dress. It wasn't overly fancy—just enough to say this matters. Her phone buzzed.
Ethan: Outside when you're ready.
Her stomach did a little flip.
When she stepped outside, Ethan was leaning against his car, a soft smile playing on his lips. He had swapped his usual writer's uniform of rumpled sweaters for a crisp, button-down shirt. Still casual—but thoughtful.
"You look beautiful," he said, opening the passenger door for her.
Ava flushed. "You clean up well yourself."
Their dinner spot was a cozy Italian bistro tucked between a bookstore and an old record shop. The place had a charming, mismatched interior—checkered tablecloths, candles flickering in wine bottles, the scent of garlic and basil drifting through the air.
As they settled in, Ethan smiled over his glass of red wine. "I wanted to pick a place that felt…like you. Warm, inviting, a little off the beaten path."
Ava blinked. "That's surprisingly accurate."
He shrugged. "I'm good at noticing things. Comes with the job."
They talked over plates of pasta and fresh bread, the conversation dipping from playful teasing to thoughtful honesty. Ethan shared stories of failed writing projects, the pressure of deadlines, and the fear that his words wouldn't matter.
Ava opened up about her first failed attempt at starting the bakery, the loan she'd almost defaulted on, and the fear that even now, success might slip away as quickly as it came.
"I almost gave up," she admitted, twirling her fork. "So many times. But something inside me just…held on."
"I'm glad it did," Ethan said softly. "Your bakery isn't just good—it's full of heart. I could taste it the first time I walked in."
Ava met his gaze and felt the warmth of his words sink in. For a moment, neither of them spoke, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them.
After dinner, they walked slowly along the quiet streets, the city hushed under the dim glow of streetlamps. They passed closed shops, an old man walking his dog, and the sound of jazz drifting from a rooftop bar above.
At a corner, Ethan paused. "You know, I wasn't supposed to be at that café the day we ran into each other. I took a different route home on a whim."
Ava smiled. "Sounds like fate."
He looked at her, the shadows softening his features. "Maybe it was."
There was a pause—gentle, uncertain.
Then Ethan reached for her hand. "I've been thinking about you, Ava. More than I probably should."
She didn't pull away. "Me too."
The moment stretched. And then, as if the night itself had conspired for it, he leaned in.
Their first kiss was slow and unhurried, filled with the kind of promise that made Ava's heart beat just a little faster. Not rushed. Not perfect. Just real.
When they finally pulled apart, Ethan rested his forehead against hers and whispered, "I'd like to see where this goes. If you're willing."
Ava's voice was barely above a breath. "I am."
As she walked into her apartment that night, the taste of wine and Ethan's kiss still lingering, Ava felt something shift inside her. Not just hope this time.
Something stronger. Something sweeter.
Love, perhaps.
And for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel afraid of it.
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