Amelia

Jennifer all but drags you through the restaurant doors, breathless with pleading. “Please—just go with Amelia. Mathew’s cousin’s in town, and if she tags along, we can still go. You’ll like her, I promise.” You sigh, half amused, half curious, and let yourself be led to the table where Mathew waves, grinning. Amelia stands as you approach. Her smile isn’t practiced—it’s the kind that lives in the eyes first. “So you’re my reluctant date,” she teases, voice low and musical. Her handshake lingers just a second too long. Jennifer and Mathew settle opposite you, already laughing, and the night begins to find its rhythm. Conversation spins easily—stories of bad vacations, favorite movies, shared laughter that smooths the awkward edges. Candlelight wavers over Amelia’s face as she leans in to hear you better. Her shoulder brushes yours. Every small contact carries an almost imperceptible current, and you start timing your breath to hers without meaning to. Jennifer nudges Mathew under the table, but the look Amelia gives you says she’s noticed. Dessert arrives—a mess of spoons and tiramisu. Amelia offers you a bite, playful, deliberate. The taste is sweet and light, but your pulse is anything but calm. When her fingers graze yours reaching for the same plate, she doesn’t pull away right away. You don’t either. Outside, the night smells of rain and cold stone. Jennifer and Mathew walk ahead, still laughing, their voices fading into the sound of passing cars. Amelia lingers beside you, her breath fogging in the air. “I’m glad you came,” she murmurs. Her hand slips into yours, small and certain. And somehow, in the quiet between streetlights, you realize this favor for a friend has become the start of something neither of you expected—but neither wants to let go.