I remember the exact moment I matched with Aaron. His face appeared on my screen with that little “It’s a Match!” banner, and just like that, I was hooked.
He was, quite honestly, stunning—broad shoulders, a clean-cut beard, eyes like warm honey dripping over fresh bread. His profile oozed confidence, and his bio wasn’t half bad either: “Looking for something real. Lover of books, coffee, and bad puns.”
A man who could appreciate a solid pun? Immediate bonus points.
But what really got me? His messages. Thoughtful, engaging, not the typical “Hey, how’s your day?” fluff. Aaron actually remembered things. He’d ask about the books I was reading, follow up on random anecdotes, and somehow make the most mundane topics feel interesting.
Then, in the middle of a conversation about childhood nostalgia, I casually mentioned my favorite story growing up was Beauty and the Beast.
Instead of the usual “Oh, that’s cute” response, Aaron surprised me.
“No way, that was my favorite too! Though I gotta admit, I’ve only seen the Disney version.”
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. “That counts,” I replied.
“Exactly,” he shot back. “A misunderstood guy with anger issues, a girl who sees the good in him, and they fall in love. Classic.”
That was it. That was the moment I felt it—that click.
A week of near-constant texting later, he asked me to dinner.
“I know a spot you’ll love,” he said, sending me the address of an upscale Italian place downtown.
I Googled it and my eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. White tablecloths. Candlelight. A menu with no prices.
“Ooh, fancy. Should I bring a ball gown?” I teased.
“Only if you plan on dancing with a beast.”
I laughed so hard I snorted.
When the night of our date arrived, I stepped into that restaurant and there he was.
Aaron stood as soon as he saw me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. Even better looking in person. Sharp charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, that perfectly tousled I-put-effort-into-looking-effortless hair.
And when he leaned in for a quick hug? His cologne—expensive, intoxicating, the kind of scent that lingers in your memory long after the person is gone.
“You look incredible,” he said, pulling out my chair.
“Understatement of the century,” I shot back. “You look like you just closed a million-dollar deal.”
“Technically, I did,” he winked, and I rolled my eyes, laughing.
If first dates had a grading scale, this one was an A+. No awkward pauses, no ex talk, no painful small talk about “what do you do for fun?” It was easy.
Then, in the middle of appetizers, Aaron leaned forward, eyes warm with curiosity. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Wow, going straight for the deep cuts, huh?” I teased.
“Life’s short. Why waste it on small talk?”
I thought for a second. “Okay… I used to cheat at board games with my little brother.”
His eyes widened in mock horror. “Not board games.”
“Oh yeah,” I grinned. “Monopoly, Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders—ruthless.”
Aaron shook his head, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “Remind me to never play cards with you.”
“No promises,” I shot back.
It felt good. It felt right.
And then dessert arrived.
That’s when the night took a turn.
Aaron reached under the table and pulled out a single red rose.
“For you,” he said, his voice softer than it had been all night.
I blinked at it, my heart skipping a beat. A rose? Like in Beauty and the Beast? He remembered.
I took it carefully, running my fingers over the soft petals. “Oh my God, this is like the fairy tale! You remembered!”
Aaron chuckled. Not a warm, sweet laugh. No, this was different. Self-satisfied. Smug.
“Oh, that’s funny,” he said. “But that’s not why I brought it.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
His smile stretched wider. “It’s like The Bachelor. I give roses to women I go on dates with if I think they’re good enough to move to the next round.”
I stared at him, waiting for a punchline. Waiting for him to say just kidding.
He didn’t.
He just sat there, completely serious.
“So yeah, this rose is for you because I think you’re great. If things go well, you’ll keep getting roses. And when it’s down to two women, I’ll decide who I want to be with.”
I nearly choked on my tiramisu.
“You’re serious?” I asked, hoping I misheard him.
“Absolutely!” he beamed. “Dating is hard, you know? This way, I make sure I’m picking the right person.”
And that? That was the moment I checked out.
I sat there, processing how my dream date had just turned into an unsanctioned reality show. A live-action dating competition. And I was an unpaid contestant.
When Aaron excused himself to the restroom, I made a decision.
I waved the waiter over, pulled out my card, and paid for both of us.
Yes, I know I shouldn’t have paid for him, too, but at the time, it felt like a power move. And I’m petty.
Then, I grabbed my purse, took the rose, and walked right out the door.
No dramatic speech. No goodbye. Just a woman who knew when to walk away.
By the time I got to my car, my phone buzzed.
Aaron.
“Wow, I love a woman who takes initiative and isn’t a gold digger. Paying the bill? That’s impressive. You’ve definitely earned the next rose.”
I threw my head back and laughed.
The man actually thought he was the prize.
I didn’t reply. No witty comeback. No speech.
I just blocked his number and drove away.
Because sometimes? The win isn’t finding the right person.
It’s walking away from the wrong one.
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