“Well… you’re beautiful.”
I turned around so fast I nearly dropped my coffee.
The man standing behind me in the bakery was ridiculously handsome.
Tall.
Confident.
The kind of man women actually turned their heads to look at.
And he was smiling directly at me.
My first thought was that he had to be making fun of me.
I looked around for his friends.
A hidden camera.
Someone laughing.
Nothing.
So I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the counter.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Can I get your number?”
I stared at him.
“Why would you need my number?”
He laughed.
“Because I’d like to take you out for coffee.”
I was completely baffled.
No guy had ever randomly asked for my number before.
Especially not someone who looked like him.
I’d spent most of my life being described as “nice” or “sweet.”
Never beautiful.
Never unforgettable.
Yet somehow, I gave him my number.
His name was Luke.
He texted me that evening.
Our first date lasted almost four hours.
By the third date, I was still waiting for him to admit there had been some kind of misunderstanding.
But he never did.
A few weeks later, I was dating the most attractive man I had ever met.
And somehow, the strangest part wasn’t that he wanted me.
It was that I couldn’t understand why.
