When my brother Marcus insisted he knew “the perfect guy” for me, I braced myself. After all, his last setup was a spoon collector who wore socks with sandals. But Marcus was persistent, swearing Andy was polite, smart, and mysteriously single.
Tired of dodging questions about my love life, I agreed—one date, just to prove I was “open.”
Andy surprised me. He showed up with wildflowers, opened doors, and made genuine conversation over dinner. He seemed attentive, kind, and refreshingly normal.
For the first time in ages, I felt seen and respected. When he offered to drive me home, I hesitated—first date rules say Uber only—but he was so sincere, I let it slide. He dropped me off like a true gentleman, waited until I got inside, and even waved from the car.
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