It was him.
Chris stood in the hallway in dark fitted trousers and a charcoal shirt, top button open, looking like he'd put in exactly the right amount of effort without trying too hard.
He looked good. And smelled good.
But the moment his eyes landed on her everything else stopped.
He didn't say anything for a full second.
Just looked at her the way she'd caught him looking at her across the café - like she was something he hadn't quite expected and couldn't quite look away from.
"Hi," she said, because someone had to say something.
"Hi," he said back. Then quietly — "You look incredible Irene."
Not you look nice. Not you look pretty.
Incredible.
Heat rushed to her cheeks immediately.
"Thank you," she managed.
They walked majestically downstairs and out of the apartment complex looking like a new couple.
Her eyes locked briefly to what was parked in the street. "Is that you?" She asked.
"Yeah," he said simply.
She stared at it.
A sleek blue black sports bike sitting under the amber glow of the streetlight like it had been placed there specifically to look that good.
"You ride a bike," she said slowly.
"I do." He said slightly.
"You didn't mention that." She added.
"You didn't ask." He replied.
She looked at him. Then back at the bike.
"Chris."
"It's safe Irene trust me"
"That is exactly what someone says right before it isn't-"
"I've been riding for five years." He tilted his head slightly, that almost smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Do you trust me?"
She looked at him for a long moment.
"Fine," she said. For what felt like the hundredth time since she met him.
He smiled. Properly. And held out the spare helmet.
She'd never been on a motorbike before.
The way Belfast blurred past on either side. The cold night air rushing against her. The city lights smearing into gold and amber streaks as they moved through the streets. And her arms around him — which she'd tried to keep loose and casual for approximately fifteen seconds before the first corner and then held on properly.
He drove smoothly. Confidently. Like he and the bike were the same thing.
By the time they stopped she was slightly breathless.
She climbed off and handed back the helmet, trying to look completely composed.
"You enjoyed that," he said. Watching her face.
"It was fine." She replied.
"You were smiling the entire time." He said.
"The wind does things to your face-" She added.
He laughed. Low and warm. He extended his hand and offered to hold hers while they turned and approached the building behind them.
The restaurant sat in a quiet corner of the city centre; warm amber light spilling through tall glass windows, dark wood and candlelight visible from outside, a discreet gold lettered sign above the entrance that said everything without saying much at all.
Five star. Obviously.
"Chris-"
"Don't," he said gently.
"I was just going to say-"
"I know what you were going to say." He looked at her. "You're not going to tell me it's too much. Not tonight."
She pressed her lips together.
Looked at the restaurant.
Looked at him.
"Fine," she said quietly. Third time tonight.
He smiled and held the door open.
Inside was everything the outside promised.
Soft lighting. White tablecloths. The kind of quiet that expensive places had — not empty, just composed. A pianist in the corner playing Beethoven's "Für Elise" that created the perfect environment for a date night.
The smell of good food and warm bread drifting through the air.
The waiter led them to a table by the window — of course by the window — and handed them menus that had a variety of exotic and intercontinental premium dishes.
She looked up at Chris.
He was watching her with quiet amusement.
"Order whatever you want," he said.
"Chris these prices are probably-"
"Irene."
"I'm just saying-"
"Whatever. You. Want." He leaned forward slightly. "Please."
She looked at the menu.
Looked at him.
Looked back at the menu.
Alright. She said.
Irene scanned the menu and picked a meal. She called the waiter to come over to take her order.
The waiter appeared at her elbow quietly.
"I'll have the BBQ ribs with mashed potatoes and a honey glaze" she said. "And the sushi combo starter." She handed the menu back. "Oh, and a Virgin mojito please." She added.
The waiter turned to Chris...
"I'll have the same," Chris said simply. Closed the menu. Handed it over.
Irene stared at him.
"You didn't even look at anything else."
"I didn't need to."
"You just ordered whatever I ordered."
"You spent four minutes deciding." He leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the table, eyes settled on hers with that calm steady look that did completely unreasonable things to her chest. "I figured you'd picked well."
"That's either really sweet or really lazy," she said finally.
"Can't it be both?" He asked.
She laughed despite herself.
The virgin mojito arrived first. Fresh mint. Lime. Ice.
The sushi came next. A clean elegant arrangement of sushi rolls that looked almost too pretty to touch.
Irene picked up her chopsticks without hesitation.
Chris watched her.
"You know how to use those?" he asked.
"Obviously." She picked up a roll cleanly and popped it in her mouth.
He was still watching her with that expression she was slowly learning- the one that was warm and amused and something else she hadn't named yet.
He picked up his own chopsticks.
Paused.
"Don't laugh," he said.
"Why would I-"
He attempted a roll. It slipped. He caught it before it hit the plate but only just.
Irene pressed her lips together extremely hard.
"Not a word," he said.
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Irene."
"I'm saying nothing Chris."
She was absolutely saying nothing. She was simply looking at the window with her shoulders shaking slightly.
He pointed at her. "I see you."
She lost it completely.
Laughed — really laughed — the kind that was free and unguarded and completely unplanned.
And Chris sat back and watched her laugh until she got tired and stopped.
The ribs arrived and settled every question anyone had ever had about this restaurant.
Irene took one bite and had to physically stop herself from closing her eyes in public.
"Oh my God, this is so good" she said with food still in her mouth.
The meat fell clean off the bone. The honey glaze was smoky and sweet in exactly the right measure. The mashed potatoes were creamy and buttery and the kind of thing you thought about on a bad day.
She was three bites in before she remembered she was on a date and probably shouldn't look quite this focused.
She looked up.
Chris was already watching her. Chin resting on his hand. Not even touching his plate yet.
"You're staring," she said.
"You went completely silent," he said. "First time all evening."
"The food is good-"
"It's the best thing you've ever eaten isn't it."
"...It's decent."
"Irene."
"It's very decent."
He smiled. Picked up his fork. Took a bite.
Went quiet himself for a moment.
"Okay," he said.
"Told you."
"You didn't tell me anything you said it was decent-"
"And I was right."
He gazed at her across the candlelight.
Just gazed at her. And it was clear as daylight that he had feelings for her.
"What?" she asked softly. As she caught his gaze.
"Nothing," he said. "Just thinking."
"About?"
A small pause.
"That I'm glad I walked into that café."
"Even for average coffee?" she said quietly.
"Best coffee I've ever had," he said.
And the way he said it- steady and certain and looking right at her- made it very clear he wasn't talking about the coffee at all.
She took a long sip of her mojito.
Said nothing.
But she was smiling when she put it down.
She felt that warmth spread through her chest again — that embarrassingly full feeling she was running out of ways to explain.
The evening wound down slowly.
Neither of them rushed it.
Dessert came and went — something chocolate and warm that Irene declared was also good and Chris didn't believe for a second. The pianist in the corner had moved from Beethoven into something slower and unhurried to set the tone. The restaurant had thinned out around them without either of them noticing.
At some point Irene looked at her phone and realised they'd been at it for nearly three hours.
It didn't feel like three hours.
It felt like twenty minutes and somehow also like much longer than that. The comfortable kind of longer.
"We should probably go," she said quietly. Not because she wanted to. Because it was late.
Chris looked at her for a moment. Then nodded.
He paid the bill and tipped the waiter 10 pounds.
"A gentleman I see" Irene muttered.
They stood up and exited the restaurant.
The ride back was quieter than the ride there.
Belfast at night had a different kind of beauty — streets emptier, lights softer, the city finally exhaling after a long day. Irene held on a little less tightly this time. Settled into it. Let herself enjoy it properly without the nerves of the first time.
She was almost disappointed when her building came into view.
They pulled up slowly. She climbed off, handed back the helmet and stood there in the amber streetlight in her burgundy dress feeling strangely reluctant to move.
Chris swung off the bike and walked her to the entrance.
They stopped at the door.
"I had a really good time tonight," she said honestly.
"Yeah?" he said.
"Don't fish for compliments." She replied.
He laughed quietly. "I had a good time too Irene."
She looked up at him for a moment. The streetlight. The quiet street. The way he was looking at her like she was the only thing worth looking at in all of Belfast.
She pulled closer and hugged him.
"Goodnight Chris," she said softly.
"Goodnight Irene." He held her gaze just a beat longer than necessary.
She smiled and slipped inside.
She was barely in her nightie when her phone buzzed.
Chris: Just got home. Tonight was perfect. Thank you for saying yes.
She sat on the edge of her bed smiling at the screen.
Irene: Thank you for the two coffees. That's technically where this started.
Chris: Best investment I ever made.
She laughed softly to herself.
Irene: Goodnight Chris.
Chris: Goodnight Irene. Sleep well.
She put her phone down.
Lay on the bed.
Stared at the ceiling and fell asleep in a heartbeat.
Sunday morning arrived soft and unhurried. Her phone rang.
It wasn't Chris...