"We matched!" That was the first thought that popped into my head when Aaron's face appeared on my phone screen with that little "It's a Match!" banner.

He was, quite honestly, stunning. He had broad shoulders, a clean-cut beard, and eyes that made me think of warm honey dripping over fresh bread. He had a sharp, classic style like he knew how to tie a Windsor knot without a YouTube tutorial.

His bio wasn't half bad either: "Looking for something real. Lover of books, coffee, and bad puns."

And his messages? Chef's kiss.

He asked thoughtful questions — not just the basic "So what do you do for fun?" fluff most guys open with. No, Aaron remembered things. It was like talking to someone who actually listened, and that alone felt like a novelty.

One night, in the middle of a conversation about childhood nostalgia, I casually mentioned that my favorite story growing up was Beauty and the Beast.

Instead of the usual "Oh, that's cute" response, Aaron texted back, "No way, that was my favorite too! Though I gotta admit, I've only seen the Disney version."

I smiled so hard my cheeks ached. "That counts," I replied. "It's still the same story."

"Exactly," he shot back. "A misunderstood guy with anger issues, a girl who sees the good in him, and they fall in love. Classic."

I stared at the screen, feeling a warmth in my chest that I wasn't ready to admit out loud.

"You really get it," I typed, and for the first time in ages, I meant it.

After a week of near-constant texting — morning, lunch breaks, random "saw this and thought of you" memes — he finally asked me to dinner.

"I know a spot you'll love," he said, sending an address for an upscale Italian place downtown.

I Googled it and was instantly hit with images of white tablecloths, glowing candlelight, and decor that perfectly united old-school Italian charm with modern flair.

My eyebrows shot up.

I texted back, "Ooh, fancy. Should I bring a ball gown?"

His reply was instant. "Only if you plan on dancing with a beast."

I laughed so hard I snorted, alone in my kitchen, already imagining how I'd tell my best friend about this.

The restaurant was even more magical in person. Warm light flickered off glossy wine glasses. The faint hum of violins floated through the air, and the smell — rich garlic, fresh basil, and baked bread — wrapped around me like a hug.

I stepped inside, scanning for Aaron, and there he was.

He stood when he saw me, and my heart did this embarrassing little flip. The man was even better looking in person. He wore a sharp charcoal suit and a crisp white shirt. He wasn't wearing a tie, but somehow he still looked polished.

As I walked over, he smiled, showing teeth so perfect I almost wanted to ask for his dentist's number. And that cologne when he leaned in to hug me briefly? I couldn't name it, but it smelled amazing.

"You look incredible," he said, pulling out my chair. "I feel underdressed."

"Understatement of the century," I teased, gesturing at his suit. "You look like you just closed a million-dollar deal."

"Technically, I did," he said with a wink, and I rolled my eyes, laughing.

If first dates had a grading scale, this one was an A+. No awkward pauses, no "so tell me about your ex" moments that make you question your life choices. It felt easy.

Aaron didn't ask the tired, surface-level questions I'd come to expect. Instead, midway through appetizers, he leaned forward, eyes lit with curiosity, and asked, "What's something you've never told anyone?"

I blinked, caught off guard, but not in a bad way.

"Wow, going straight for the deep cuts, huh?" I teased, stabbing a piece of bruschetta with my fork.

He grinned, eyes crinkling at the edges. "Life's short. Why waste it on small talk?"

I chewed for a second, thinking. "Okay, um… I used to cheat at board games with my little brother."

"No," he gasped, placing a hand on his chest like I'd mortally wounded him. "Not board games."

"Yes, board games," I said, laughing. "Monopoly, Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders — I was ruthless." I leaned in, lowering my voice as if confessing a grand conspiracy. "He never knew I was palming extra Monopoly cash under the table."

Aaron tilted his head, eyes narrowed in mock judgment. "You're telling me you were out here committing financial fraud at eight years old?"

"Survival of the fittest," I said, shrugging with exaggerated innocence. "I regret nothing."

He shook his head slowly, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh. "Remind me to never play cards with you."

"No promises," I shot back. "But I'll try to play fair."

It felt good. No, it felt right. Like maybe I'd found someone I wouldn't have to force it with. My mind wandered briefly to my best friend, Cara, and I made a mental note to text her later: Heart emoji. Fire emoji. Girl, I think I found him.

When dessert arrived — tiramisu, because I have taste — Aaron did something straight out of a rom-com.

He pulled out a single red rose from under the table. I blinked at it, my heart tripping over itself.

"This is for you," he said, his eyes softer than I'd seen all night.

My hands moved on their own, accepting the rose. The petals were velvety, not a flaw in sight. Perfect.

"Oh my gosh, this is like Beauty and the Beast!" I laughed, holding it up like a prize. "You remembered! I told you that was my favorite story."

Aaron chuckled. Not a warm, sweet laugh. No, this was deeper. A little too self-satisfied.

"Oh, that's funny," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But that's not why I brought it."

I tilted my head, confused. "Oh? Then why?"

His smile stretched wider. "It's like The Bachelor. I give roses to women I go on dates with if I think they are good enough to move to the next round."

I stared at him, waiting for him to crack a smile or say "just kidding." He didn't. He just sat there, proud of himself like he'd unlocked some secret to modern dating.

"So, yeah, this rose is for you because I think you're great. If things go well, you'll keep getting roses from me. When it's down to two women, I'll decide who I want to be with."

He stared at me closely with an eager look in his eyes like he was waiting for me to swoon over his honesty or something.

I blinked, stunned. My brain short-circuited. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely!" he said, his grin unwavering. "It's a great system. Dating is hard, you know? This way, I make sure I'm picking the right person."

I sat there, trying to process how my "dream date" had just turned into an unsanctioned reality show. A live-action dating competition. And I was an unpaid contestant.

The tiramisu suddenly tasted like sand in my mouth.

When Aaron excused himself to the restroom, I sat there, staring at the rose on the table like it might start talking.

I could hear my mom's voice in my head: "People tell you who they are, honey. Believe them." Well, Aaron had just told me who he was — a man with an ego big enough to turn dating into a game show.

Nope. I wasn't about to play.

I waved the waiter over, pulled out my card, and paid the bill for both of us. Yes, I know I shouldn't have paid for him, too, but at the time it felt like a power move and I'm petty. I grabbed my purse and the rose and left. I walked to my car, the cold night air biting at my skin, but I didn't feel it. I felt clear-headed.

No "what ifs," no "maybe I'm being too harsh." I'd seen the flag. It was red. I wasn't colorblind.

I climbed into my car, tossing the rose onto the passenger seat like it was just another piece of clutter. As I reached for the ignition, my phone buzzed.

Aaron.

I hesitated, then opened the message: "Wow, I love a woman who takes initiative and isn't a gold digger. Paying the bill? That's impressive. You've definitely earned the next rose."

I threw my head back and laughed. The kind of wild, ugly laugh that shakes your whole body.

He thought he was the prize.

I didn't reply. No witty comeback. No "well, actually…" speech. I just blocked his number, deleted our chat, and drove away.

I'd spent years trying to find my perfect match, but that night, I realized something. Sometimes, the win isn't finding the right person.

Instead, it's walking away from the wrong one.

Here's another story: Back home for the summer, Andrea is eager to reconnect with Daisy, her effortlessly cool high school friend who's getting married. But Daisy's pre-wedding party turns into a nightmare when Daisy recognizes the man in one of Andrea's photos as her fiancé.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.