If anyone had told me a year ago that I'd be going on a date with a law student who calls himself "emotionally persuasive," I would've laughed — and maybe thrown my stethoscope at them.
But today, here I am.
Andre texted me last night like he was scheduling a court hearing:
> Date request officially approved by the defendant (that's you). Venue: The Grove Café, 5 p.m. Dress code: breathtaking.
I told him I'd show up in my lab coat just to ruin the mood.
He replied,
> Perfect. I always fall for professionals.
Ridiculous. Adorable. Irritatingly charming.
---
Lily helped me pick an outfit even though she grumbled the entire time.
> "You're ditching me for your little law puppy again," she said, crossing her arms.
"He's not a puppy."
"You literally call him that."
"That's different."
She still smiled when I left, though. I think she likes seeing me act human again.
---
Andre was already waiting outside the café, leaning against the railing like he was posing for a romance movie. When he saw me, he actually froze.
"You came," he said, grinning like a kid who just won a case.
"I said I would, didn't I?" I replied, slipping my hands into my jacket pockets.
"Yeah, but I was still mentally preparing a closing argument in case you changed your mind."
I laughed before I could stop myself. He noticed — of course he did — and his grin only grew.
---
The café was cozy, warm lights and the faint smell of cinnamon. Andre ordered two hot chocolates before I could even speak.
> "Doctors drink coffee, not hot chocolate," I said.
"Not on my watch," he replied. "You've had enough caffeine to reanimate a corpse this week."
"Are you implying I experiment on the dead?"
"Only legally," he teased.
---
We talked about everything — our classes, professors, Lily's chaotic personality. He told me how he joined law because he liked "making sense out of chaos," and I told him how I joined medicine because I liked "fixing what chaos leaves behind."
He stared at me for a long moment, then said softly,
> "You're kind of amazing, you know that?"
I rolled my eyes, but my chest tightened. "Careful, counselor. Flattery is a weak defense."
He smiled. "Not when it's the truth."
---
After dinner, we walked through the park near campus. The sky was fading into soft orange, the air smelled faintly like rain.
He stopped by the fountain, turned to me, and said, almost shyly,
> "You know, I'm still nervous around you."
"Why?" I asked, amused.
"Because you're… you."
I didn't have a comeback for that. So instead, I looked up at him — and that's when he leaned in.
It wasn't rushed, wasn't perfect. It was soft, hesitant — the kind of kiss that made my heart feel like it had just remembered how to beat.
When he pulled away, he whispered,
> "You taste like hot chocolate. Told you it was better than coffee."
I should've said something sarcastic, but all I managed was a quiet, "Shut up."
He grinned. "Yes, Doctor."
---
When I got home, Lily was waiting with that smug look.
> "So? Did the law puppy behave?"
"He kissed me."
"Oh my God, my cold friend is melting."
"Go to bed, Lily."
I tried to sound indifferent, but my reflection in the mirror betrayed me — smiling, glowing, alive.
Andre Lacoste — that persistent, annoying, wonderful boy — had just won his first case.
Me.