The next few days felt like a dream. She kept texting him. She didn’t ghost him or disappear. They discovered shared interests in astronomy, geology, even cats. She introduced him to Oreo, her chunky black-and-white attention hog. He showed her his rock collection, proudly displaying his rare earth minerals: a 0.76-gram piece of erbium and a 0.87-gram piece of terbium.

  Their messages stayed playful, memes, jokes, work horror stories. Then came the invitation: “Hey, if you’re not too busy Friday after work, wanna stop by Jake’s Café on 3rd Street for coffee?”

  Han stared at the screen. “There is a god,” he muttered.

  Suddenly the world felt brighter. Maybe Friday at Jake’s would change everything.

  Friday arrived too slowly. Han might have even run a red-light camera on the way home, but his rusted plate was barely legible anyway. What mattered was what to wear. He chose casual, after a shower and his best cologne.

  In the underground parking, the irony hit: he was dressed to impress, but his dad’s old Civic had already died once or twice. Still, she had seen it before. He trusted the last bit of gas would get him there.

  Mars waited at a small metal table outside, reading. She glanced up, didn’t recognize him at first, then blinked. The tall man approaching wasn’t the scruffy hardware-store guy from the bus stop. Han was transformed. His Dragon Ball shirt fluttered like a cape, his tight white shirt showed he wasn’t ripped but filled it well.

  She stood quickly, smoothing her fitted skirt, the same white ribbon in her hair.

  “Han,” she said softly, smiling and extending her hand.

  “Mars.” He nodded. They shook hands formally; his heart hammered. He waited for her to sit, though he could have stood there forever.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you,” she chuckled as she sat. “You’re not covered in glue or blood.” She teased. The ice broken, he couldn’t resist: “You look lovely. You could be a model.”

  To his shock, she stood and twirled slowly. “Do you like this skirt? I made it myself.”

  A waiter appeared. Han ordered without hesitation: “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  Mars hid a blush, tempted to offer him a sip of hers but couldn’t quite manage it.

  The weather was perfect; the conversation better. One drink became three. Shyness faded into teasing, stories, and laughter that flowed like the cappuccinos.

  As the date wound down, panic flickered: what if she expected a ride home? The tank was nearly empty. In a quick save he suggested, “The weather’s too perfect for the night to end. May I walk you home?”

  She giggled. “Sure, why not?”

  She slipped her arm through his. They strolled past lively shops and restaurants. A few blocks in she stopped; embarrassment hit him. She was in heels. Before he could speak, she steadied herself with a hand on his chest, freezing him in place. She slipped off her shoes and pulled sandals from her bag.

  “Now you’re way taller than me,” she protested. “It’s your fault for being so tall.” Her pout made him want to scoop her up. They continued, laughing and pausing at shop windows. By the time they reached her building, the sun was setting.

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  She thanked him with a hug; her smile and the sweet scent of her hair lingered as he walked back toward the café. From her high floor window she watched him go. Both kept smiling.

  Over the next week the messages increased. More jokes and memes, but slowly they turned personal: Do you have any tattoos? Why did you get divorced? Do you have kids? How old are you? He answered everything, though he feared the age gap would scare her off. Her replies never slowed; her interest only deepened.

  Anime became their newest shared ground. Mars loved Prince of Tennis but had seen only a handful of other shows. Han looked forward to introducing her to the classics.

  With Mars in his orbit, things began to shift. Work receded into the background, gambling gradually loosened its hold, and even his smoking tapered off. He started tidying the condo a little each day, just in case she ever came over. The top of an old couch slowly emerged from beneath boxes and blankets, one he hadn’t seen clearly since college.

  A week later, a late-night message lit up his phone: “You know, it’s your turn to ask me out now.”

  Han grinned up at the ceiling and typed back: “Tomorrow. Dinner at Le Bistro.”

  “Great. What time?”

  “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

  “Now get some sleep,” she replied.

  The next morning Han snagged the last available reservation slot, thanks to a timely cancellation. His heart leaped. He opened his casino app but only ran through the free spins to pass the time. While digging through boxes, he uncovered his mother’s Royal Doulton figurines. A quick online search revealed they held real value. He listed them, and within an hour they sold. A spark ignited inside him. Had he been sitting on thousands all this time?

  The date suddenly had a budget. He went shopping: new slacks, a crisp shirt, a silk tie. He got his shoes shined, filled the car with gas, bought flowers, and stopped for a quick trim at the barber.

  By the time he parked in the visitor stalls at her building, he barely recognized his own reflection.

  An elderly lady held the lobby door; Han slipped inside and hurried to her apartment. He rang the doorbell and playfully covered the peephole.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “Special delivery,” he answered, voice bright with excitement.

  She opened the door instantly, recognizing him, and gasped at the bouquet: four white roses, four daisies, and four white lilies. Her smile bloomed, warming him through. She tugged him close by the tie and hugged him tightly. The sharp lines of his outfit and the silk in her hands suddenly made her feel underdressed.

  She fetched a vase from the kitchen cupboard and told him to trim the stems and add water. Then she vanished into her bedroom. When she returned, she wore a long black dress, the kind that could hush an entire room.

  “How do I look?” she asked, clearly fishing. Han chuckled. “I think you’d look good in a garbage bag.”

  She burst out laughing. “I’ll have to call the police if you’re planning to chop me up and throw me away.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” he protested.

  “I know,” she scoffed, slipping her arm through his. “Let’s go.”

  Traffic crawled and parking was a nightmare, but Han didn’t mind with Mars beside him.

  At Le Bistro, people spilled into the street, turned away at the door. Han guided her through the crowd, keeping her close, and locked eyes with the ma?tre d’.

  “Reservations for Fist. Party of two.”

  The man checked his list and nodded. “Right this way, monsieur.”

  Inside, the bistro hummed with energy; rich aromas filled the air. Their stomachs growled in unison, drawing shared laughter as they reached their table.

  Mars blinked at the prices.

  “I’ll order for you,” Han said calmly, sliding her menu away. She hesitated but agreed.

  “Next time, I’m cooking you dinner at my place,” she added, sending his heart soaring.

  They ordered 8-ounce sirloins, mashed potatoes, grilled corn, crab cocktails, and black truffle sauce. Conversation faded the moment the food arrived. Every bite demanded their full attention.

  Afterward, Han walked her to her apartment door. She gave him a quick, soft kiss and a hug. “Thank you for all this,” she said sincerely.

  Without thinking, he kissed her passionately on the lips.

  “Have a great night, Mars,” he murmured dreamily, turning to leave.

  She laughed, thinking he was joking, and pointed down the hall. “The elevator’s that way.”

  Han corrected course, cheeks burning as his heart hammered. She was going to cook for him next. He couldn’t wait for more of Mars.