When Eric insisted on paying for our first date, I thought I had met a true gentleman. He arrived with a bouquet of roses, a sweet little gift, and charming conversation that seemed to flow effortlessly. Every romantic comedy cliché was unfolding before my eyes. I could already hear my best friend, Mia, smugly telling me, “I told you so.” She had set this up, after all. I had my doubts when she first suggested it. “Come on, Kelly, just trust me. Eric is such a gentleman. You’ll love him,” she had gushed over the phone while I rifled through my closet, trying to decide what to wear. “You’ve never set me up before,” I pointed out. “What makes you think you know my type?”
That made me think. Maybe I should give this a chance if Chris, Mia’s boyfriend, was a great judge of character and didn’t hype people up unless he really meant it. “Fine,” I sighed. “Show me a picture at least.” A few seconds later, my phone rang, and I opened the message, curiously glancing at the picture. Eric was well-groomed, clean-cut, and smiling warmly. “Okay,” I confessed. “He’s cute.” Mia squealed in victory. “Text him! Set it up! You won’t regret it!I agreed to meet Eric for dinner at a new Italian restaurant by the river, which was fancy but not intimidating. It was the kind of place where first dates could end in either romantic success or awkward disaster. I got there five minutes early, standing near the entrance and anxiously checking my reflection in my phone’s camera when I noticed him. He looked exactly like he did in his photo, attractive in a polished, business-casual way, but what caught me off guard was the bouquet of roses in his hand—not the same cheap grocery store flowers, either. “You must be Kelly,” he said with the same warm smile. But that wasn’t all. He took a small gift box tied with a tidy cyan bow out of his jacket pocket. “What’s this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just a little something. Open it,” he encouraged. Inside was a sleek silver keychain with the letter “K” engraved on it. It was subtle, personalized, and genuinely kind of thoughtful. “I asked Mia what you might like,” he added. At this point, I was impressed. Flowers and a gift on a first date? Either he was truly thoughtful, or he was the king of first impressions. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.” “This is really nice of you,” I said sincerely. “Thank you.”
“So, what made you agree to this setup?” he asked after we placed our orders. “Mia can be very persuasive,” I admitted with a laugh. “And Chris vouched for you, which is rare.” “Chris and I go way back,” Eric said. “Meet in college. He’s always been a stand-up guy.” He pulled out my chair, maintained eye contact, and listened intently when I talked about my work as a graphic designer. He even remembered small details from our texts—about my favorite books, my weekend hobbies, and even a casual remark I had made about my brother’s dog.
The conversation flowed smoothly after that. We discovered a mutual interest in true crime podcasts and our shared fascination with documentaries about strange subcultures. He told amusing stories about his job as a marketing manager, and I caught myself thinking, this might be the best first date I’ve ever had. Then the check came. I reached for my purse out of habit. “Absolutely not,” Eric said firmly, slapping his card down before I could even unzip my bag. “A man always pays on the first date.” The tone surprised me. It wasn’t just polite—it was final, like an unbreakable rule of law. I hesitated for half a second, then shrugged. “Okay, if you insist. Thank you.”
I said, “I’d like that,” and I meant it. He gave me a warm but curious hug, and I drove home believing that this was one of the most amazing first dates I had ever had. Then I got the text message. When I woke up the following morning, I was expecting something cute, like, “Had a great time last night,” but instead I saw an attachment. Curiously, I opened it, and it was an invoice—a meticulous, professionally formatted invoice with the following text at the top in a bold, official-looking font: