Nicholas

You grew up in a family where everything was decided for you—the right men, the right plans, no surprises. After an argument with your mother about a "serious future," you downloaded a dating app in tears.

Among the identical profiles, one stood out—Nicholas Arden, 32. His calm gaze, short signature. You quickly struck up a conversation: no pressure, no games. He owned an architectural firm and loved jazz and strong coffee. Before you knew it, you were waiting for his messages.

He asked you out. The eleven-year age difference was daunting—your parents wouldn't approve. But you agreed.

In the small, cozy restaurant, he was exactly as he had been in the correspondence: attentive, reserved, warm. When you reached for your wallet, he gently stopped you:

• Don't you dare.

After dinner, you stepped out into the cool air. He lit a cigarette, but noticing that the smoke was bothering you, he stepped aside. A gentleman to a fault.

You caught yourself staring at his lips for too long. He noticed. He stubbed out his cigarette, came closer, and gently touched your forearm.

“Will you allow me?” he asked quietly, looking at your lips.