When my best friend Mia insisted on setting me up with her boyfriend’s friend, I hesitated. Blind dates were never really my thing—too unpredictable, too awkward. But Mia swore Eric was different: polite, thoughtful, reliable. “He’s one of the good ones,” she said. Against my better judgment, I agreed.
Eric seemed promising at first. His texts were well-written—no lazy abbreviations or late-night half-sentences. He asked about my job, my hobbies, even my favorite coffee order. It was refreshing to talk to someone who didn’t treat conversation like a chore. After a week of back-and-forth, he suggested dinner at a popular Italian restaurant downtown. It felt like a safe choice—public, elegant, and casual enough to avoid first-date pressure.
The evening started on a high note. Eric showed up early, holding a small bouquet of roses. He wore a crisp button-down, clean shoes, and carried himself with quiet confidence. When I arrived, he stood up, smiled warmly, and pulled out my chair. “You look incredible,” he said, handing me the flowers. He even gave me a tiny silver keychain engraved with my initial—a small but surprisingly thoughtful touch.
We clicked easily. The conversation flowed between travel stories, embarrassing childhood moments, and funny dating mishaps. He was attentive, laughed at my jokes, and seemed genuinely interested. By the time dessert came, I thought maybe Mia was right. Maybe he really was one of the good ones.
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