Rewrite the Rules

Date: Part 23

He took a deep breath, his next words a formal question that somehow felt laced with nervous anticipation. "Emma Rowan, would you like to go on a date with me... today?"

I hesitated, the memory of the opulent breakfast and impersonal conversation still fresh in my mind. "I've already had one date today," I said slowly, "and I think that one was enough."

"Please," he pleaded. "Give me a chance to make it up to you. Let me show you the real me, not some staged, scripted nonsense."

My heart hammered a chaotic rhythm against my ribs. A part of me, the cautious, logical part, wanted to walk away. But another part, the part captivated by his sincerity and the undeniable spark between us, yearned for a chance to rewrite the narrative.

"You know..." I began, but he cut me off, his voice laced with a hopeful urgency.

"You gave him one date," he interjected, "the least you could do is give me one and then make your mind up." His eyes held a mixture of hope and vulnerability that tugged at my resolve.

Taking a deep breath, I met his gaze head-on. So handsome, with those dimples and that charming smile. A smile tugged at the corners of my own lips. "I would love to," I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could overthink it.

A triumphant grin spread across his face, chasing away the shadows of doubt. "First things first." He pulled out a clunky-looking purple phone, a stark contrast to the sleek smartphones everyone else seemed to carry. "Please, can I have your number?"

As he stood up, taking my hand in his, a wave of uncontainable happiness surged through me. Electricity crackled between us, and butterflies took flight in my stomach. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I gazed into his warm brown eyes.

"Let me see what you're wearing," he said, his voice playful as he twirled me around. My dress billowed out in a full circle, the soft fabric whispering against my legs.

"You look beautiful," he declared, his voice sincere.

I couldn't help but return the playful jab. "You look... odd," I teased, eyeing his strange disguise. The cheap wig and oversized glasses did little to hide his undeniable charm.

He chuckled. "This is probably what I would've looked like if I was an engineer like my dad wanted," he joked.

"Have you had breakfast?" he asked, his voice shifting gears.

"I did," I replied, the memory of the bland hotel food making my stomach grumble. "But wouldn't mind joining you if you're hungry."

A grin split his face, brighter than the neon signs that pulsed around us. "Perfect," he said, his voice laced with a hint of triumph. We strolled down the Vegas Strip, the air thick with the noise of music, street performers, and excited tourists. Giant, holographic advertisements flickered overhead, bathing the street in a kaleidoscope of colors.

His gaze darted from one flashy restaurant to the next, finally settling on a cozy, family-owned diner tucked away on a side street. The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafted from its open windows, a siren song to my empty stomach.

"This place!" he exclaimed, pointing. "I've always wanted to try their breakfast."

"Then let's go."

Inside, the restaurant was a throwback to a simpler time. Booths in worn leather or colorful vinyl, adorned with family-friendly prints on the walls - maybe landscapes or scenes from classic Americana. Wooden accents and exposed brick might add a touch of rustic charm, while framed photos of happy customers and vintage dessert advertisements complete the homey feel.

Namjoon scanned the menu with an enthusiasm that was both endearing and slightly concerning, considering the sheer volume of food listed. He finally settled on a breakfast platter fit for a king – fluffy pancakes drizzled with golden syrup, eggs over easy, mountains of hash browns, bacon and sausage links glistening with grease.

I, on the other hand, opted for something a little lighter. "Just some toast, please," I told the waitress, a friendly woman with a nametag that read "Dottie" in loopy cursive.

"Coming right up, hon," Dottie chirped, her smile as warm as the coffee she poured.

As we waited, Namjoon leaned closer, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "So, tell me about this breakfast at Tiffany's."

I launched into a description, recounting the scene in vivid detail – the hushed reverence of the staff, the sparkle of diamonds catching the light, the exquisite presentation of the avocado toast that tasted like cardboard. My voice rose with each sentence, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

"And then," I continued, mimicking the overly attentive waiter with a snooty voice, "'Would you care for a selection of artisan jams, ma'am?'" A snort of laughter escaped me, the absurdity of the whole situation finally sinking in.

Namjoon threw his head back and laughed, a rich sound that resonated deep within me. "Tiffany's, huh? Not exactly what I had in mind for a first date."

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, relief flooding through me. Finally, someone who understood.

"So," he said, his voice teasing, "tell me about the red convertible."

My cheeks burned as I recounted the details of the staged date, leaving out the more embarrassing parts – like tripping over my own feet while exiting the car and nearly face-planting on the sidewalk.

"And then nothing. Date done."

Namjoon's gaze held a mixture of concern and something more – a spark of possessiveness. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to the story?" he asked.

I bit my lip, unsure how to articulate the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside me. "Nothing... interesting," I mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against mine. The contact sent a jolt through me, a welcome distraction. "There's something you want to ask, isn't there?" he prompted gently.

Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the question that had been gnawing at me since he walked into the lobby. "Um... is ghosting normal for you?"

His answer was swift and decisive. "Nope!"

Relief washed over me, so intense it almost felt like a physical sensation. "You're single, right?" I pressed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

He threw his head back and laughed, a joyous sound that filled the diner. "Yes! I will never ghost you again and 100% single." He winked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I'm certainly available now."

The weight of unspoken possibilities hung heavy in the air, a delicious tension that crackled between us. Dottie arrived just then, placing our plates on the table with a flourish. The aroma of sizzling bacon and fluffy pancakes filled the air, but for the moment, food was the furthest thing from my mind.

He continued shoveling his breakfast platter into his mouth with gusto, the clatter of his fork against the plate a comforting counterpoint to the clinking of casino chips and the distant wail of a siren. Between bites, he managed to say, "So, no serious girlfriend after the military."

"Okay," I replied, pushing the mostly untouched toast around my plate.

"And the red convertible guy?" he prodded, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Are you planning on seeing him again?"

"Absolutely not," I said with a firmness that surprised even me. The memory of his forced conversation and impersonal demeanor sent a fresh wave of annoyance through me.

Leaning closer, I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "How long do you plan on torturing yourself with those chompers?" I teased, gesturing towards his ridiculous disguise teeth.

He burst out laughing, a rich sound that washed over me. Reaching across the table, he captured my hand in his. "Don't worry," he chuckled, "they're coming off soon."

"Speaking of parties," he continued, his voice dropping a seductive octave, "there's a party after the concert tonight. I'd love for you to be my guest. What do you say?"