Chapter Text
When Kevin dropped Gwen off, he did so at a quaint French bakery on an empty street which Gwen thought was a strange choice considering it was still blocks away from the restaurant but she chucked it up to him being extra discreet for her sake until he handed her a ten dollars bill.
“Can you grab me a pack of peanut butter cookies?” He’d asked. “I love them but usually, people barely put any peanut butter in them but this place, they pump those cookies full with peanut butter.”
Now she was munching on her peanut butter cookies on the walk to the restaurant and Kevin was ten dollars short. She didn’t know why she was eating before dinner, maybe just to feed the butterflies in her stomach. Gwen took careful steps down the cobblestone street like she was afraid of making mistakes, frankly, she was still debating whether or not this was one. For the past weeks, she had been hanging out with these two men who were merely strangers a few months ago, one of them was even a childhood nemesis and the other was taking her out on a date.
Michael Morningstar, dressed in his finest clothes - a black cashmere turtleneck, a suede brown coat, and beige chinos; a look that made Gwen feel grown up next to him albeit underdressed with her skirt and mostly polyester sweater.
They exchanged pleasantries and Michael walked her to the table, during which Gwen felt like she was going through a tunnel because of how dimly lit this place was. Gwen’s family was not opposed to the occasional fancy restaurants here and there but this one was on an entirely different tax bracket. It wasn’t until they sat down that she really had a chance to absorb the atmosphere: the warm glow of the candlelight, the yearning string quartet a few feet away from their table, the bouquet of roses in Michael’s hand.
“You look beautiful today.” Gwen doubted it but she accepted the flowers with a smile anyway.
“Thanks, Michael. These are beautiful.” Gwen leaned into the roses. “I wish I knew you were bringing these, I would’ve gotten you a little something too.”
Michael waves a hand. “No, no, don’t you even think that. Of course I’m getting my date roses.”
Gwen gently rubbed the petal with her thumb and index finger, the soothing motion, feeling the velvety texture massaging against her skin. A simple but delicate gesture. A boy gave her roses on a date.
“You’re supposed to hold up the spoon like so and then twirl the pasta against it with your fork.” Michael demonstrated with his Tuscan chicken pasta. “We had some family friends from Sicily and this was what they taught us.”
Her fork has been poking and probing into the mushy zucchini - a vegetable she despised but only ordered because they were labelled as courgette on the menu and Gwen felt adventurous this evening - mindlessly for the remaining of the dish, an act of disdain which Michael mistook for confusion and apparently, inability to eat with a fork, thus he began delving into his knowledge pool of anything and everything Italian to form a connection with her. Despite her initial hesitation, Gwen twirled her pasta against the curve of the spoon.
“It is easier. Thanks.” Gwen said with a mouthful of zucchini. An admission of hatred for a vegetable would only reduce her to a bumbly high school girl at this moment.
There was a noticeable lull in the conversation as they chewed on their food; an opportunity for Gwen to present herself as cultured. Her mind ran through every conversation they’ve ever had, searching for a keyword that could produce a story that’d enrapture his attention, one that would win him over, one that would cement Gwen as a sophisticated but fun and casual girl, one that might not exist. Gwen realized that she’d been living an uninteresting life for a while but it wasn’t until now that she found herself completely dull.
Before she had the chance to reconcile with herself and compose a conversation starter, Michael spoke. “Are you enjoying the string quartet?”
“It’s lovely. I feel like I’m living through every romcom I’ve ever watched.”
Michael sipped his drink. “So do I.” He rocked his glass as if it contained Scotch and not the sparkling water that he ordered. A gesture well rehearsed to anyone but not Gwen, at least not right now, she was more focused on what he’d just said.
“Oh! What rom coms do you like?”
Michael pulls back. “You know, the classics.”
“Like?”
He brought a napkin to his face as if to stall time, like in a second he will remember his favourite movie. Finally, he cracked a smile. “I’m going to be honest with you, Gwen. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t really watch rom coms.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “It’s okay. I don’t actually like this zucchini pasta.”
And just like that, the lingering tension of night was lifted.
The conversations flowed easier as the dinner moved through all the beats of what Gwen pictured as a classic date from all the movies and books she’d consumed. They’ve gathered all the typical, basic information out of one another: siblings, Gwen one brother, Michael none; favourite music; Gwen road trip classics, Michael smooth jazz; dream university; an Ivy League for Gwen and Michael was considering a gap year. By the end of the night, they’ve exhausted their knowledge of themselves and gained more of the other. Whether or not these answers will lead to any further insights in the future was yet to be determined but for now, they felt like they understood each other better.
Gwen left the restaurant recognizing Michael as a sensitive and romantic man who would usually hide his true feelings underneath a refined, well mannered facade; her exact type. Yet she was taken by surprise when Michael, who had driven her back to her place and was now standing in front of her at the doorway, leaned in for a kiss. Her first instinct was to move away but Gwen was tired of deriving herself of any joy in life, so tonight, she leaned in too.