Better Than Tinder

Chapter Five

"You'll make him drop like a fly," Elle says, smoothing down the black dress she chose from her wardrobe. The advantage of having a sister who wears the same size, I guess.

Usually, I love this dress on her, with her well-built curves, but on me? It looks like they dressed a scarecrow.

"I hope not literally," I huff, glancing at her in the reflection of the mirror.

Elle rolls her eyes and gives me a playful shove. "Stop it. You look stunning. Blake is going to be head over heels."

I tug at the dress, feeling awkward. "Are you sure? I feel like a scarecrow in mourning."

Elle laughs. "Trust me, Ava, you look amazing. Just be yourself. You're smart, funny, and charming. Any guy would be lucky to have you."

I suck in a breath, glancing at my reflection. I can't lie: Elle did a pretty good job with my hair and makeup. I look like a whole different person. My features look much softer and less like an 'I will bite you' type of.

"You'll make a great impression on him" Elle says, squeezing my hips and winking from behind

"Easy for you to say," I mutter, fidgeting with the hem of the dress.

Elle rolls her eyes playfully. "Come on, it's just dinner. And if he turns out to be a dud, at least you'll have a funny story to tell later."

"Always the optimist," I say, though her words do lighten my mood.

"Damn right," she replies with a grin. "Now, go knock 'em dead, sis."

With a deep breath, I grab my purse and head for the door. "Wish me luck!"

"Luck is for the unprepared," Elle calls after me, her voice filled with mock seriousness.

The walk to the nice Italian restaurant is fairly short, though the heels Elle lent me (a size too small) are a bit uncomfortable. But pain is beauty, isn't it?

My stomach is in knots. The thought of meeting a total stranger for a date is an unfamiliar step out of my comfort zone.

Stepping inside, I'm immediately enveloped in a warm, inviting ambiance. The flicker of candlelight dances on exposed brick walls, and the soft murmur of conversation mingles with the soothing strains of an old Italian ballad. Shelves lined with bottles of rich red wine and olive oil glisten under the soft lighting, creating a feeling of hospitality. Who knew that such a gem could be hidden in this small city?

I give my name to the receptionist, who leads me to a table where Blake is already seated. He's cute, and by the look of his trimmed black beard, he seems well-groomed.

"You must be Blake," I say, extending my hand across the table.

He stands up and shakes my hand immediately, his grip firm yet gentle. "And you must be Ava," he replies with a warm smile as he eyes me up and down. "These are for you," he says, passing me a bouquet of... tansies. I look at the vibrant yellow flowers, knowing they are a symbol of hate and war.

"Great," I say, stretching a smile across my face. "Thanks."

Blake seems oblivious to the awkwardness as he gestures for me to sit. "I thought they were lovely," he says, sitting back down. "They caught my eye at the florist."

"Well, they certainly are... unique," I reply, setting the bouquet down beside my seat.

A waitress with an exaggerated, almost mocking, fake Italian accent approaches to take our order. Her over-the-top performance would be amusing if it weren't so distracting. I decide on the chef's pièce de résistance: Tagliatelle with Black Truffle, while Blake opts for a simple lasagna. We decide to pair our meals with a nice Tuscan red wine.

Blake, noticing how far away I've kept the flowers, decides to address the elephant in the room. "You... don't like them?" he asks, making me jolt.

"Oh, no! I like them," I stammer, trying to muster enthusiasm. "It's just... those flowers are traditionally given to someone you despise."

Blake's expression shifts from confusion to mild amusement. "C'mon, they're just flowers."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Well, in the language of flowers, tansies symbolize hostility."

"I think it's all bullshit, you know, the language of flowers, crystals... those types of things," Blake says with a chuckle, his tone lightening the mood.

I feel a pang of annoyance at his dismissive tone, but I try to keep the conversation light. "Maybe," I reply with a forced smile. "But it's still interesting to learn about."

Blake nods, not noticing my unease. "Sure, if you're into that sort of thing."

The waitress returns with our wine, pouring it with a flourish. "Buon appetito!" she exclaims before bustling away, leaving us in a slightly awkward silence.

As Blake raises his glass, I take a moment to collect my thoughts. Despite his comment, I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he's just not into mystical stuff like I am.

"To new experiences," Blake proposes, his tone warm.

I clink my glass against his, forcing a smile. "To new experiences."

As we continue our dinner, the conversation feels strained. Blake tries to steer it towards lighter topics, but I can't shake off the feeling that he's a dud. He clears his throat and attempts a smile. "So, Ava, do you have any favorite movies?"

"Yeah, I'm really into old classic films. Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, that sort of thing," I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

He nods, his eyes glazing over slightly. "Oh, I'm more into action movies. You know, the ones with lots of explosions and car chases."

"Right," I say, forcing a smile. "Those are fun too."

The conversation stalls, and I find myself glancing around the restaurant, hoping for some kind of distraction. Blake doesn't seem to notice my waning interest and presses on.

"Do you have any pets?" he asks, leaning forward as if this question might save the evening.

"Yes, actually. I have a cat named Mr. Whiskers. He's a bit of a handful, but I love him."

Blake chuckles. "I've never been a cat person. More of a dog guy, really. They're just so loyal and energetic. Cats are just lazy and unloving"

I nod absently, biting my tongue to not flip him off. "Dogs are great."

Blake shifts in his seat, clearly searching for another topic. "What about hobbies? Do you have any interesting ones?"

"I'm really into gardening," I say, hoping to spark some kind of connection. "I find it relaxing."

"Gardening, huh?" He raises an eyebrow. "I guess that's okay. I mean, you get all dirty and sweaty."

I bite back a sigh. "Yeah, but it's something I enjoy."

A nice face, but no personality.

By the time the check arrives, I'm relieved. We settle the bill quietly, exchanging polite goodbyes at the door.