"Ms. Auclair, was it?"

July 10, XXXX. 4:20pm, an hour after our initial consultation was scheduled, and he was yet to arrive. My coworker, Jack had entered my office with visible concern, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Your client is an hour late, it's safe to assume that he isn't coming. How about we go and get a drink? surely you can afford a coffee break. I'll treat you" He said, just as a figure emerged from behind him, they were a lot taller but also more lean than Jack. "Apologies, but I think I had an appointment scheduled?" The man spoke, almost as if on cue as Jack asks me out to coffee.

I drank his voice in, soft and deep and gentle. "Mr. Hart", I failed to hide my surprise. Jack raised a brow, stepping aside. His eyes were slightly covered by his hair, curling slightly to the side. The sun peered through the window behind me, the light illuminating his bright amber eyes, the way his smile curved up, allowing his dimples to form slightly. "I apologize, for my tardiness though I do believe that I had an appointment with— Ms. Auclair, was it? Is it still available? I understand if it is not". Those words snapped be back to reality and I instinctively spoke, "Of course. I was waiting for your appearance, Mr. Hart." A nervous chuckle left my lips.

The clock 4:50 pm. He lifted his wrist to check the time, "I'll compensate by taking you out to that coffee you were meant to have with this gentleman" He looked at Jack with narrowed eyes and a smirk tugging at his lips, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. I couldn't tell what it was for— whether it was because he had stolen his date from him, or that he was overconfident in how he displayed himself to me.

6:30pm marked the end of our initial consultation, and his eyes met mine again. The night had dimmed the amber. Now they felt cold but gentle, he felt like winter Infront of a campfire if not the warm and sweet honey feeling of golden hour during spring. "It's a little late for coffee, no? How about I take you out to dinner instead?" He looked at me with those now dark brown eyes, it sent shivers down my spine. "You sure are bold, Mr. Hart" I teased, trying to imitate his confidence. He hummed in response, his eyes squinting as his lips curled into a smirk. "That, I am"

He led me to his car, and to my surprise, I recognized the model—a 1932 Packard Model 902. The realization startled me. I had never considered myself knowledgeable about cars, yet somehow, the name surfaced in my mind. Perhaps I had picked it up from my brother's obsession with vehicles. The cold had drained the warmth from his complexion, his once sun-kissed skin now appearing paler beneath the evening chill. His rich, earthy features remained striking, each one carved with effortless elegance. Even his voice carried a melodic quality, each breath drawn with a quiet rhythm that made it almost hypnotic.

It was around 7:10 when we arrived. The moment we stepped out of the car, he moved with an air of practiced grace. He pulled my chair back effortlessly, the door already open as if by instinct. One arm was folded behind his back, his chest leaned slightly forward in a manner both refined and deliberate. Then, with a small step to the side, he extended his hand toward me." After you?" His voice was smooth, his gaze flicking up to meet mine with an easy confidence. That familiar smirk played at the corners of his lips again, teasing, knowing.

A strange sensation settled in my chest— something foreign yet deeply familiar. It was as if I had stepped into a moment I had already lived, a feeling both new and impossibly comforting. Warmth spread through me, gentle and undeniable.

8:05 PM, our food arrived. Forty minutes I spent with him, awaiting our meal, Forty minutes of his voice filling my ears, his gaze warming my cheeks. He refused to eat before me, simply resting his cheek on his palm, sipping wine, and filling the silence with his voice. I basked in his kindness—unlike most men, he made no risqué comments. Instead, he watched me with quiet admiration, as if savoring the moment itself.

I couldn't help but feel foolish for thinking that this was a date. Looking back, there were no outright romantic gestures, no inappropriate remarks—just conversation that flowed too easily, a warmth in his gaze that lingered a little longer than necessary. And yet, there was an undeniable charm in the way he spoke, the way he listened. It was clear that he was trying to win my favor, though he did so with an effortlessness that made it hard to resent. And, if I were being honest with myself—I wasn't complaining.

By the time the meal ended at 10:10 pm., he had walked me to my door, his presence lingering even as he said goodnight. I had expected an awkward goodbye, maybe a half-hearted hug, but instead, there was a brief moment where our eyes met, the air between us charged with something unspoken. I stepped inside, closing the door gently behind me, my mind whirling, my cheeks flushed.

Now, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I found myself replaying every interaction, every small moment that had passed between us. The way he had leaned in slightly when I spoke, the genuine interest in his eyes, the ease with which laughter had come. Was I overthinking it? Maybe. But something about tonight made me pause. Maybe, just maybe, this was

something worth exploring, maybe there was something more? Perhaps, if I allowed myself, I could make things work with him. After all, he was kind, considerate, and easy to talk to. And perhaps… maybe that was enough.