We followed the hostess, weaving between tables, Chloe’s heels clicking confidently. At our table, she sat first, glancing around like she was memorizing every detail.
“Nice place, right? They have lobster! I adore lobster. I hope you’re not allergic, Evan,” she teased.
“No allergies,” I replied. “But I do get mild menu anxiety.”
She grinned. “Trust me, you’ll love it here.”
A waitress appeared. Maya, her nametag read. She handed us menus. Chloe barely glanced at hers.
“I know what I want,” Chloe said. “I’ll have the lobster. With the butter sauce, please. Extra on the side, too.”
“Trust me, you’ll love it here.”
Maya nodded, scribbling it down. “Excellent choice. And you, sir?”
“Uh, the salmon, please,” I said. “And water’s fine.”
Chloe leaned back, folding her hands. “So, this is your first Tinder date?”
“Not my first, but it’s my first in a while,” I admitted. “What about you?”
She shrugged. “A few. But most guys are too nervous. Or too cheap.” She smirked. “But you seem relaxed. I like that.”
I laughed nervously. “I’m trying my best. I was practicing small talk earlier.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? Impress me, then.”
“But you seem relaxed. I like that.”
“Okay… I can touch my nose with my tongue.”
Chloe burst out laughing. “That’s terrible, Evan.”
“Maybe, but it broke the ice.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “Alright, you get points for effort.”
As our drinks arrived, she pulled out her phone. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m documenting my food journey.”
“Go for it. My plate’s never looked this good.”
She snapped a photo, then one of us. “Smile. My friends will demand proof you exist.”
I grinned. “Tell them I survived the first round.”
Chloe burst out laughing.
Chloe winked. “Oh, it’s early yet.”
We clinked glasses, the room buzzing, conversation flowing like we’d done this a hundred times. For the first time that night, I felt hope.
***
For a moment, I thought maybe I’d misjudged her. Maybe Chloe was just bold, not entitled.
We finished eating, and I was almost relaxed by the time Maya cleared the plates.
Then the check arrived, placed in the middle of the table. Chloe did not reach for it.
I glanced at her, then at the bill. Her lobster alone was $150. Add in wine, dessert, and sides, her share was well over half.
I thought maybe I’d misjudged her.
I pulled out my card.
“Alright,” I said, keeping it light. “We’ll just split it like we said, right?”
Chloe leaned back, smiling like she was in on a joke I had missed.
“I’m not paying,” she said, not unkindly, but absolutely certain.
I stared, half-expecting her to laugh. “What?”
She shrugged. “You’re the man. Men pay, don’t they? That’s how I’ve always done it.”
My ears felt hot. “But… you agreed to split.”
“Men pay, don’t they? That’s how I’ve always done it.”
She picked up her phone, scrolling absently. “Yeah… but I didn’t think you’d actually mean it. Men never do.”
A beat of silence stretched between us.
Something old and familiar rose up in me, memories of being made to feel small, like my feelings did not matter, like I could apologize for expecting fairness.
But I kept my voice even, willing myself not to back down.
“I meant it,” I said quietly.
Chloe rolled her eyes, lips curled into a half-smile that did not reach her eyes. “You’re really going to embarrass yourself over dinner, Evan? In front of all these people?”
A beat of silence stretched between us.
“Why should I be embarrassed for wanting what we agreed on?”
She gave a light, almost pitying laugh. “Goodness, you’re stubborn.”
I set my fork down. “We agreed to split.”
