I’ll never forget the night I met Eric, and how it felt like I had stepped straight into a romantic movie. When he insisted on paying for our first date, I thought I had finally met a true gentleman. He greeted me with a beautiful bouquet of roses, the kind that come from a florist, tied with an elegant ribbon—not the kind you grab at the grocery store. And if that wasn’t enough, he handed me a small gift box wrapped neatly with a cyan bow.

Inside was a silver keychain, simple but classy, engraved with the letter “K.” He explained that Mia, my best friend, had told him I might like something like that. I was impressed. Here was a man who paid attention to details and made me feel special. The conversation was effortless, and his demeanor was nothing short of charming. It was easy to get swept up in the moment. As I sat there across from him, sipping my wine and laughing at his stories about his job as a marketing manager, I couldn’t help but think Mia had been right to push me into this date.

She had been so confident when she called me a week earlier, practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. “Trust me, Kelly,” she had insisted. “Eric is different. He’s the real deal.” I had been skeptical. Blind dates weren’t really my thing. And Mia had never set me up with anyone before, so why now? But when she mentioned that her boyfriend Chris vouched for Eric, it made me pause. Chris had always had an excellent read on people. If he thought Eric was worth meeting, I figured I had nothing to lose. So I agreed, and Mia sent me his picture. He looked clean-cut, with a warm, easy smile that made him seem approachable.

I found myself smiling as I texted him back, agreeing to meet for dinner at a new Italian restaurant by the river. The place was cozy yet elegant, the kind of spot that made you feel a little fancy but not out of place. I arrived early, feeling a little nervous, checking my reflection in my phone camera. When Eric showed up, I felt an instant wave of relief. He looked just like his photo, maybe even better, with a polished, business-casual vibe that worked for him. His confidence was disarming in the best way. As he handed me the flowers, I remember thinking, “Mia was right.” Eric held the door for me, pulled out my chair, and listened intently when I talked about my work as a graphic designer.

He remembered little things from our messages—how I loved mystery novels, my weekend hikes, and even how my brother’s golden retriever had stolen my sandwich last Thanksgiving. He was attentive and genuine, and I found myself relaxing into the date more than I expected. We bonded over true crime podcasts and our shared obsession with quirky documentaries. He made me laugh with stories about the chaos of his office, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say. When the check arrived, I instinctively reached for my purse, but he stopped me immediately. “Absolutely not,” he said, slipping his card onto the tray before I could unzip my bag.

“A man always pays on the first date.” His tone was firm, not in an arrogant way, but like it was non-negotiable. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but it seemed harmless enough, so I shrugged and thanked him. As we left the restaurant, he asked if he could call me again soon. “I’d like that,” I answered, and I meant it. He gave me a warm hug before I got into my car, and I drove home smiling, thinking it was one of the best first dates I’d ever had.

But then, the next morning, I got a text message from Eric. Still half-asleep, I reached for my phone expecting a sweet “Had a great time” kind of message. Instead, there was an attachment. Confused, I opened it. It was a receipt. For the dinner. Itemized, with a note that read, “Just so you know what I spent.” My stomach dropped.

And suddenly, all those thoughtful gestures and polished manners felt like part of a transaction I hadn’t agreed to. I stared at my phone, wishing I hadn’t let him pay. Wishing I had trusted my gut instead of getting swept up in the perfect first impression.