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Me: So, what do I need to know about you? Amelia didn’t give me a whole lot of details except that you’re apparently amazing.

Mike: She said that? Wow. No pressure or anything.

I smile, a small laugh escaping me.

Me: Don’t worry, she’s been hyping you up so much I’m fully expecting you to show up riding a white horse.

Mike: Sorry to disappoint, but no horse. I do have a truck, though. Does that count?

Me: I’ll allow it. For now.

The conversation stalls for a moment, and I wonder if he’s as unsure about this as I am. Blind texting is just as awkward as a blind date.

Mike: So, I was thinking…if you’re free this weekend, would you want to go to the carnival?

I stare at the screen for a second, surprised. The town carnival is always a big deal—lights, food, games, the whole nostalgic vibe. It’s also a place where everyone and their cousin will probably see us.

Me: The carnival? That’s…actually kind of perfect. I haven’t been in years.

Mike: Great! We can keep it casual. Grab some food, and play a game or two. No pressure.

Me: Casual sounds good. Just don’t expect me to be any good at carnival games.

Mike: Good, because I’m terrible at them. At least we’ll be bad together.

Me: Deal. What time?

Mike: How about 6? I’ll pick you up.

Me: Sounds good. I’ll see you then.

As the conversation ends, I sit back, my nerves buzzing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. It’s just one date—a carnival, some small talk, and probably a lot of awkward moments.

Still, there’s something kind of nice about the way he approached it. No games, no pretense. Just…real.

Now I just have to figure out what to wear. And maybe, just maybe, Amelia wasn’t completely wrong about this.

The early spring chill seeps through my apartment windows as I pull my sweater snug around me, glancing at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes. It’s 5:50, and Mike is supposed to pick me up at 6. My stomach flutters nervously.

I look down at my outfit for the hundredth time, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my jeans and adjusting the cuffs of my gray sweater. It’s warm but fitted enough not to feel frumpy, and my black boots give me just a little extra height. Practical but cute, I hope. I’ve debated this outfit all day, toggling between wanting to impress and not wanting to look like I’m trying too hard.

The sound of tires crunching outside makes me jump. I grab my jacket and purse, nerves jangling.

When I open the door, Mike is standing next to his truck, a relaxed smile on his face. He’s taller than I expected, with darkhair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looks friendly enough, but there’s something about the way he shifts his weight, like he’s trying too hard to seem casual.

Probably just first-date nerves,I tell myself.

“Hey, Bella,”he says, his voice smooth as he gives me a once-over—not in a way that immediately makes my skin crawl, but enough that I notice.

“Hey,”I reply, forcing a polite smile as I step outside and lock my door.

We climb into his truck, and as he starts the engine, a faint scent lingers in the cab—stale beer, maybe? It’s not overpowering, just… there. I brush it off, trying not to overanalyze.

“You’re even prettier than Amelia said,”Mike says as he pulls onto the road.

I glance over, caught off guard by the compliment.“Oh. Thanks.”

“Most girls would kill for a chance to go out with me,”he adds, shooting me a quick look. It’s lighthearted, almost joking, but there’s something underneath it—an expectation.

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