Chapter 3: Too Good to Be True
The third date came quicker than she expected. She didn’t even have time to overthink it.
Daniel texted her that morning.
"Dinner tonight? I’m thinking something with candles and too many forks."
She smiled at her phone like an idiot.
"Are you asking me on a fancy date or trying to scare me off?"
"Can’t it be both?"
"Sure. As long as there’s dessert."
By 7 p.m., he was waiting outside her building in a charcoal coat and black gloves, holding a single white rose.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, cheeks flushed from the cold.
He handed her the rose. “I know. But I wanted to.”
She smelled it, soft petals brushing her nose. “You’re dangerously close to being a cliché.”
He smirked. “Good. I’ve always wanted to be someone’s favorite cliché.”
The restaurant was dim, all soft lighting and slow music. The kind of place with waiters who smiled like they knew secrets and menus that didn’t have prices.
Camille leaned across the table. “Okay, I have to ask… what do you actually do, Daniel? You keep avoiding the details.”
“I told you. I run a design firm.”
“Yeah, but what kind of design?”
He shrugged. “Architecture. Interiors. Branding. A little bit of everything. I consult more than I build now.”
“Ah. So you’re mysterious and rich.”
“And you’re skeptical and charming.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Still dodging.”
“I like keeping things a little mysterious.”
Camille tapped her glass. “Dangerous game. Mystery can turn into suspicion real quick.”
Daniel leaned in. “Then I’ll have to make sure I never give you a reason to doubt me.”
They talked for hours. About nothing and everything.
She told him about her childhood obsession with writing stories. How she used to believe she’d grow up to be the next J.K. Rowling — until life got in the way.
He told her he used to collect old cameras. That he believed photographs were the only way to capture truth before people learned how to lie to it.
“You’re weird,” she said, laughing.
“I prefer the word ‘eccentric.’”
“Do you?”
He nodded. “Weird people make the best lovers.”
Camille blinked. “Bold of you to assume you’re the best.”
He grinned. “I said weird people. You’re clearly part of the club too.”
After dessert — crème brûlée with cracked sugar glass on top — they stepped outside into the wind.
He offered his arm. She hesitated, then took it.
“Wanna walk?”
“Anywhere but Times Square,” she said. “I hate crowds.”
“No one willingly walks through Times Square. That’s where souls go to die.”
She laughed out loud, her breath fogging the air. “You’re dramatic.”
“I’m passionate.”
“Same thing.”
They passed a bookstore with fairy lights in the windows.
Daniel stopped, pointed. “That used to be my safe place.”
Camille looked at him. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Back when I didn’t like people.”
She smiled. “And now?”
“I like one.”
That made her heart stutter.
They reached the park. Empty. Silent. The city sounded distant, like background music.
He took her hands, rubbed them between his. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
She looked up. His face was close. Too close.
“Camille,” he said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Okay.”
The kiss was slow. Warm. The kind that made everything else stop existing.
No thoughts. No snow. No grief.
Just lips. And him.
When they finally pulled apart, she was breathless.
“That was…” she whispered.
“Better than crème brûlée?” he asked.
She laughed. “Close.”
They walked back without speaking. Their hands stayed linked.
At her door, he didn’t ask to come in. He didn’t press.
He just kissed her forehead and said, “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“You better.”
She watched him walk away again. Still no turning back. He always left with that same quiet confidence.
Too calm. Too still.
But that night, she didn’t think about it. Not really.
She went inside, kicked off her shoes, and curled up on the couch with the rose in her hand.
Something in her chest fluttered — like hope. Or fear. She couldn’t tell the difference.
The next few days were a blur of laughter and late-night calls.
Camille found herself smiling at her phone more than she worked. Lena teased her every chance she got.
“You’ve got it bad,” Lena said during lunch.
“I do not.”
“You do. You’re glowing.”
Camille rolled her eyes. “That’s just my moisturizer.”
“You went from ‘I hate everyone’ to ‘I might marry this guy’ in like, two weeks.”
“I never said anything about marriage.”
“Not with words. But your face is screaming it.”
Daniel sent flowers. Called her in the middle of the day just to say hi. Left a book outside her door with a sticky note: Page 147 reminds me of you.
When she opened to the page, it read:
“She was a storm in soft skin. A danger wrapped in warmth. And I would’ve gladly drowned.”
Camille stared at those words for a long time.
Was it too much?
Was it too perfect?
They had dinner again. Then brunch. Then a long walk that ended in her apartment — just talking, lying on her floor like teenagers, pointing out ceiling patterns.
She told him she was scared.
“Of what?” he asked.
“Of falling too fast.”
Daniel brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Camille. It’s not falling if someone catches you.”
They slept together that night.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t wild.
It was soft. Careful. Real.
Afterward, they stayed tangled in each other.
“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” she whispered.
Daniel didn’t respond right away.
Then—
“Maybe you have.”
She frowned. “What?”
He smiled. “Nothing. Just a thought.”
“Say it.”
“I just mean... maybe some souls recognize each other. Even if our bodies don’t remember.”
Camille stared at him.
It was the kind of thing that should’ve felt sweet.
But something in her gut turned.
Only for a second.
Then he kissed her shoulder, and the feeling faded.
That night, she dreamed of falling. A long, slow fall. No bottom. Just wind and silence.
When she woke up, Daniel was gone.
But he left a note on the pillow.
“Breakfast on me. Check the fridge. I’ll be back.”
There were fresh croissants in the fridge. A small container of strawberries. And orange juice.
She smiled, touching the note to her lips.
But the fridge was oddly silent. Too quiet.
The light flickered. Then steadied.
She pushed the thought away.
Everything was perfect.
Too perfect.
