His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the world quieted. The clatter of dishes, the squeaky door, the buzzing neon — all faded. From that night on, Daniel became… a regular.
Sometimes it was just coffee. Other times, he brought little things — applesauce pouches for Ben, a set of colored pencils, a toolbox when I mentioned the lamp in my hallway sparked every time I turned it on.
When my car wouldn’t start, he drove us to daycare. When I got stuck on a double shift, he dropped off dinner — no fanfare. No strings. Just… kindness.
People at the diner started whispering. I heard the murmurs and saw the looks. But I ignored them. I’d lived through worse than gossip. Daniel never made a move. Never pushed. Never expected anything.
He just showed up.
And that? That was the part that broke me in the best way possible.
Because no man in my life had ever done that. Not my father, not my ex, and not even my so-called best friend. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t easy. I’d built my walls tall and thick. But Daniel never asked me to tear them down. He just stood outside, waiting — until the day I opened the door myself.
When he finally asked me out, it was an adorably awkward moment. His cheeks actually turned pink.
“So… I was wondering if maybe you’d want to get coffee with me? Not the kind you serve here. Like, real coffee. Somewhere else. With… me?”
I laughed, not because it was funny. But because, for the first time in forever, it felt like the universe was finally being kind.
I said yes.
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