Sarah padded out of her room, hair slightly tousled, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. The apartment smelled like weak coffee and toasted bread, the kind Chloe always insisted on burning "just a little" for flavor.
She rubbed her eyes and unlocked her phone. A new message blinked at the top of her screen.
> Chloe: "Name: Eric. He runs a bakery. Pastry chef. Calmdown, he'snotacriminal. Unless you count how good he looks in white shirts."
Sarah stared at the screen for a second too long.
"A bakery?" she muttered aloud, halfway to amused, halfway to horrified.
Chloe, already curled up on the kitchen counter stool with a mug in hand, gave her a sly grin. "Morning, sunshine. And yes. He makes magic with butter. You're welcome."
Sarah glanced up. "You want me to meet a man who kneads dough for a living?"
"Oh, you have no idea what that man kneads," Chloe said with a wink.
Sarah made a face and grabbed a mug from the rack. "Please. Spare me the double entendres before caffeine."
"He owns the place," Chloe added, ignoring her. "It's upscale. Think artisan, not apron-clad village baker with flour in his beard."
Sarah poured herself coffee slowly. "You said he likes Neruda. Now he bakes croissants. Next you'll say he rescues kittens on weekends."
"You wouldn't not fall for a man who rescues kittens."
Sarah sipped her coffee. "No, but I wouldn't meet him either."
She pointed a spoon at her. "One hour. Nice café. You're dressed, you go, you charm, you leave. And if he turns out weird, I'll personally buy you that leather bag you've been eyeing for two months."
"Bribery?"
Chloe grinned. "Strategic encouragement."
Sarah leaned against the counter, thumb scrolling through the rest of Chloe's message.
> Chloe: "He's 32. Runs Delight - don't roll your eyes, that's his bakery and yes, it's famous. His pastries sell out before noon. He studied in Paris. I told him you like art and silence and brooding walks. You're basically a Pinterest board to him."
Sarah blinked. "You what?"
Chloe took a smug sip of her coffee. "Don't worry, I didn't say you cry during French films. Even though you do."
Another message.
> Chloe: "He's tall. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Smiles like it's optional."
Sarah frowned. "Smiles like it's optional?"
She perked up. "You know, the kind who only does it when it really matters. It's very compelling. Anyway, I may have told him you're a fashion designer working on a line inspired by classic poetry."
Sarah looked up slowly. "I'm a freelance designer who cried over a broken zipper yesterday."
"And that," Chloe said, raising her mug, "is the kind of emotional depth that will haunt him forever."
She gave a half-laugh despite herself, then glanced back at the phone, her thumb hesitating over the next detail.
> Chloe: "He's not a talker. Which might be good. Or awful. Depends on how much caffeine you've had."
> Chloe (cont.): "Just be you. The cardigan-wearing, sarcastic, secret romantic. He'll either love it or run. Both outcomes are informative."
Sarah exhaled a breath between a laugh and a sigh. "Why do I let you do these things?"
Chloe didn't miss a beat. "Because secretly, deep down, you like a little chaos."
Sarah turned away, mumbling, "Remind me to delete that part of your personality next time I rewrite your dating profile."
.....
The apartment was quiet again after Chloe left in a storm of perfume, high heels, and a wink that said "You'll thank me later."
Sarah stood in the middle of her room, arms folded, eyes narrowed at the open closet like it had personally wronged her.
"This is absurd," she muttered, pulling out a hanger and tossing it onto the bed. "He bakes croissants. I don't need to dress for the Met Gala."
But the pressure of firsts was a stubborn thing - first dates, first impressions, first time pretending to be your best friend on a setup she engineered while half-asleep and drinking wine.
She stared at the mirror. The black turtleneck made her look like she was going to critique modern art. The floral dress made her look like she wrote sonnets to trees. And the one thing that did look right - her deep navy blue wrap dress - suddenly felt toointentional.
Groaning, she flopped onto the bed, picked up her phone, and called Chloe.
She answered on the second ring, breathless. "If you're about to cancel, I swear I will come back and physically glue you into a dress."
"No," Sarah said dryly. "I'm just trying to figure out what doesn't scream I was forced into this by my matchmaking roommate."
Chloe laughed. "Wear that navy wrap dress. The one that makes you look like you handle wine tastings for a living."
"That one?" Sarah paused. "Isn't it a bit too... I don't know, polished?"
"No. It's perfectly mysterious. And wear your hair half up - you look like a secret worth chasing that way."
Sarah smiled faintly. "Are you trying to charm me into dressing up or dating you?"
"Both. But one crisis at a time."
A short pause.
"Chloe?"
"Hmm?"
"What if I mess it up?"
Chloe's voice softened. "Then it's just one guy who didn't get the privilege of knowing you. But what if you don't, hmm?
Sarah exhaled slowly, looking toward the soft winter light spilling through her window.
"Okay," she said. "Navy dress it is."
.............
Hey! If you're enjoying this little slice of chaos and romance, go ahead and hit that like button—because every like is like a secret handshake between us. It's my way of knowing you're loving the ride (or at least not totally bored). Thanks for being awesome and sticking around! ❤️🫂