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. Source: amomama
