Everything was perfect.
The table was set with pristine white plates, polished silverware, and two tall glasses that I had meticulously wiped down so they wouldn't have a single smudge.
In the center, a candle flickered, giving the room a soft, intimate glow.
The roses I had bought—way too many, now that I looked at them—were arranged in an overflowing bouquet on the side, their scent mixing with the rich, savory aroma of the braised beef still simmering in the pot.
I took a step back, crossing my arms over my chest, and nodded in approval. The entire apartment had been transformed. No clutter, no mess—just a carefully curated romantic setup.
"Alright," I muttered. "Food's ready. Place is ready. Now I just need to not look like I rolled out of bed."
I stretched my arms over my head before making my way to the bathroom. A shower was non-negotiable.